


When in Naples

by nerakrose



Series: Emil and his zesty Italian boyfriend [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Spectrum Michele Crispino, Awkward Sex, Cute, Emil is a bisexual disaster, Family Bonding, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mickey is a gay disaster, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Relationship Problems, Sara/Mila (very background), Sibling Bonding, So much talking, Talking, also Mickey finally discovers there's a word for what he feels, together they try to figure out how to not be disasters together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 08:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: On Mickey's last day in Prague, he and Emil have a big fight. This is how they start fixing things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [epithalamium](http://archiveofourown.org/users/epithalamium) for not only being excited about this fic as I was working on it, but also for looking it over for me. ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.

It was the middle of the day when Mickey walked off the plane, so nobody was at the airport waiting for him. Nobody was at home either; Sara was at practice—either at the rink or the dance studio—and his parents and aunt were at work. His grandmother was nowhere to be found, so she was likely across the street at a friend's house. 

Mickey didn't usually feel alone as he rarely was alone, but he had a tendency to feel lonely even when he wasn't. Now the weight of both was crushing him. He put his suitcase down on the floor and crawled into bed, pulling the pillow over his head.

That was where Sara found him, about forty minutes later. She was still sweaty and in her practice clothes, clutching a bottle of water.

"I'm done crying," Mickey said in greeting, emerging from under the pillow. 

Sara came to sit beside him. She gave him her bottle of water. "You look terrible," she said. "What's wrong?" 

Mickey chugged down what was left in the bottle. "Just stuff," he eventually said, picking the pillow up and hugging it, as if it would make a difference to the lancing pain in his chest.

" _Just stuff_? Brother mine, you've been a crybaby your whole life, but this isn't normal." Sara gestured at his face. 

He sniffled, burying his face in the pillow again. 

"Oh no," Sara said, gasping. "Did you break up?"

This had Mickey look up in horror. "What? No!" He glared at his sister. "We are _not_ broken up!"

"Okay, okay." Sara leaned against the wall, watching Mickey warily as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

"I miss him," Mickey said, voice thick. "And we had a fight." 

Sara didn't say anything for a long time, and Mickey didn't know what to say at all. He wanted to tell her, but he also _didn't_ want to tell her; not just because it was private, but also because he hadn't technically been on his best behaviour during that fight. He was as much to blame for how it'd turned out as Emil was.

"What happened?" Sara eventually asked.

"I called him a hormonal teenager," Mickey said, voice muffled. He'd hid his face in the pillow again. "And I'm mad enough that I'd do it again, even if—" his breath hitched, and he continued, "even if it was mean." He couldn't look his sister in the eye, so he didn't. 

"That's...odd," Sara said, carefully. "What on earth were you fighting about that made you call him that?"

Mickey let out a breath. "I can't tell you."

"What, because it's private? Or because it's about sex?"

"Both!" 

"I'm not asking you to paint me a detailed graphic picture," Sara said. "That would be _gross_. But I can't talk to you if you're not going to talk to me."

"I didn't ask for your help," Mickey snapped. "I don't have to tell you anything!"

"Fine!" Sara stood up, and snatched her water bottle back. "Suffer in silence, then!" She turned and strode out of the room.

"Wait! Sara!" Mickey called after her. It was more than enough that he was fighting with Emil, he didn't need to also fight with his sister. "Sara!"

She reappeared in the doorway, arms crossed and expression closed.

"I'm sorry," Mickey said. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I forgive you," Sara said after a few heartbeats, and came back to sit with him. "Do you want to talk about this fight?"

"Not really," he answered. "But I think maybe...it would be nice to have a second opinion."

"All right." She waited.

"It was stupid," Mickey eventually said. "Probably. It's just that...he behaves like a hormonal teenager and I know he _is_ technically a teenager, but he's also an adult, and the rest of us," he gestured at himself, "have grown out of that hormonal bullshit. So we had an argument and I...called him _that_ , and I think I hurt him."

"So...have you apologised?"

Mickey shook his head. "Not yet. I'm still mad. He said things too, you know." The pain in his chest spiked as the words rolled out.

Sara was quiet for a while, then: "What'd he say?"

"He—" Mickey drew in a shuddering breath, fighting back fresh tears. "He said, _for an Italian you're really fucking frigid_."

"I…" Sara's jaw dropped. "I'm confused and offended? What...why? Why would he...you're not frigid, are you?"

Mickey shrugged. "Apparently, I am." He wiped his eyes and sniffled. "Or _he's_ just hormonal. I don't fucking know. Why is sex so damn important anyway? I would be okay with never having sex ever again in my life but he acts like it's some kind of necessary part of living, on par with food or breathing, like he can't fucking live without it, and that's just _ridiculous_. Right?"

Sara was staring at him. "That doesn't sound righ—"

"Right? When is he going to grow out the stupid hormones and become a normal adult?" Mickey punched the pillow. He was crying again, he knew, partially out of frustration, and partially because he still felt like there was some kind of rift inside him.

"That's not what I meant, Mickey," Sara said, putting a hand on his arm. "It's not normal to...not want sex. Maybe if you're a nun and it's a religious thing. " She shrugged. "But this...this doesn't sound right. Are you sure you're okay? Have you been to see a doctor?"

" _What_?" Mickey couldn't find his words. Numbness spread within him, or perhaps it was shock. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Normal people want to have sex with their partners," Sara said, not unkindly. "Go to the doctor. He can get you viagra or something—"

"Get out." Mickey couldn't look at her. There was a hollow of betrayal in his belly. " _Go_."

"Mickey—"

He turned away, bringing the pillow up to cover his head, blocking her out further. "Please just go."

It was a while, but then the bed creaked and Sara got up and left. She closed the door.

And Mickey let out a small sob. 

~*~

Mickey had texted Emil to let him know he'd arrived home safely, but Emil hadn't replied. Now Mickey texted him again.

_Skype?_

He wanted to wash and dry his face, but Sara was showering after her practice so the bathroom was off limits for the time being. Didn't matter. Emil would just have to deal with his tear streaked and puffy face. If he was ever going to text back, that was.

 _Yes_. The message lit up on Mickey's screen a fraction of a second before the phone buzzed. Mickey scrambled over to his desk and switched his laptop on, pillow still in hand. Then he waited.

The stupid pillow was wet. Mickey was going to have to change his sheets; if he only got a fresh pillowcase, the whole thing wouldn't match. He plucked at a loose thread on one of the buttons.

As soon as the laptop had booted up, and Skype with it, Emil was calling. Mickey's heart lurched, but he accepted the call immediately. The stupid thing always lagged a bit so he waited until the camera was synced, and then: "Hey."

"Hey." Emil's voice was odd. Mickey tilted the screen a bit for a better look; Emil's webcam quality was absolute shite, but he was looking a bit red around the eyes.

"Hey," Mickey said again. "Were you crying?"

"Yeah," Emil admitted. He gestured at the screen. "Looks like you…"

"Still am," Mickey said. It was almost true, the tears were no longer coming fresh, but his cheeks weren't dry yet. His eyes and throat hurt as well, and he was at that odd stage that could develop two ways: either he was all cried out and would be dry for hours, or he'd set off again. "I just…"

"Fighting is shit."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed. "I'm still…" he trailed off, thinking. "I'm not mad anymore. But I'm still...hurt." And hurt again, he added silently, spikes in his chest flaring up again at the thought of what Sara had said. He looked away, blinking back tears. _Damn it_. 

"Me too," Emil said. Mickey could barely see him, his vision was so blurred. "Are we apologising?"

Mickey pulled his sleeve over his wrist and wiped his eyes. "I suppose. I am sorry for what I said. All of it."

"Me too," Emil said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Mickey nodded, then sniffled. It didn't feel okay, or like it was enough. It was better, but not...not enough. "I'm not frigid," he said. He couldn't look at Emil while saying it. "There's nothing wrong with me." 

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you—shit, did I say that? I'm sorry—"

"Not you," Mickey interrupted. "Something Sara said." He rubbed his face. He was tired all of a sudden. All he wanted was to wash his face and...sleep. Or maybe go for a run. 

"Did something happen?" Emil sounded concerned and when Mickey looked, he was peering at the screen really close. 

"I don't want to talk about it right now. I just want...I _need_ to know that you and I are okay. Are we okay?"

Emil was quiet for a bit. "I think so. I think we still need to talk, but…"

"Yeah…" Mickey nodded, relieved. He heard the shower stop. With some luck Sara would be out of the bathroom in just a few minutes. "I love you. Talk later? When's your flight to Australia?"

He already knew when Emil was flying out, but asking made him feel better. It was mundane, and normal, and not about fighting or intensely personal things.

"Ten in the morning," Emil said. "I'll text you before I board."

Mickey nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna go wash my face and maybe go for a run or something. And...have a think." 

"Yeah." Emil nodded. "Hey. I'm sorry we fought. Let's not do that again?"

"Yeah. Maybe...maybe we should make some rules when we pick up this conversation again." Mickey worried his lip. "But not now. I'm...to be honest with you, I'm still upset. I need time. Is that okay?"

"Time?" Emil faltered. "Like, a time out from this relationship sort of time? Like taking a break?"

"No!" Mickey leaned closer to the laptop. "I am _not_ breaking up with you. I meant, I need time to calm down and think and consider my words and...you know. When we pick up this discussion again I want to...be prepared."

"Oh." Emil exhaled. "I...that makes sense. Okay. Yes. Of course." He cleared his throat. "So, uh, when...when do we talk about this again?"

Mickey looked down. He was still hugging the pillow. "I don't know. We'll figure it out. Maybe when you come back from Australia?"

"That feels like a very long time to wait to talk…"

"Can't we talk about other things in the meantime?" 

Emil did a little shrug with his left shoulder, but he was tugging at his hair. "I guess." Then: "This is new. Fighting like this. It feels weird to just...ignore it? No, like...I can't explain it. It feels weird."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed. "Maybe it won't work. We'll find out. And then…" His breath hitched, just a little. "The next time we have a big fight, we'll know better how to handle it."

"Jesus, Mickey," Emil said, hiding his face in his hands. "You say it like…"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Like...when did you become an expert on relationships anyway?"

Mickey bristled. "I'm not an expert on relationships! Why do you think I'm trying to," he gesticulated, " _organise_ this fucking fight? I don't know what else to do! You're the one who's dated before, you should be the one who knows how t—"

"I don't," Emil said, cutting Mickey off. " _I'm sorry_. I haven't actually had fights like this before. Just petty stupid stuff. I _don't_ know what to do." He shrugged helplessly. "All I know is...this is freaking scary, you know?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, after a while, after forcing his heart to calm down. "I know. I'm freaked out too, you know. So…"

"Yeah." 

Quiet settled between them, but it didn't feel bad. It was almost calm. For the first time since this morning, they seemed to be on the same page again, or close enough, and that was...good, right? Mickey's chest didn't feel as tight or spikey anymore. 

"Go wash your face," Emil said. "Hydrate."

Mickey couldn't help but smile. "I love you," he said, and ended the Skype call before Emil could respond. 

~*~

Mickey went for a run. He ran until his throat burned and his legs lost all feeling and the physical pain overpowered the ache that lingered in his chest, and then he stood in the shower until all the hot water was gone. 

It was difficult to get rid of the spikey feeling. He and Emil hadn't technically made up, but they'd made peace. Mickey was halfway reassured that they'd fix things. He was _determined_ to fix this; one didn't get to happily ever after if fights didn't get made up, and Mickey...well, he wanted a happily ever after with Emil.

He'd fix this. Whatever _this_ was, he'd fix it.

Sara's words kept pushing at Mickey's thoughts, try as he might to push them down; if he allowed them to stick around they'd bring with them the nagging feeling that she might be _right_. She usually was.

He just didn't want her to be right about this.

"Mickey! How is my favourite nephew? Come here and give me a kiss!" 

" _Zia_ ," Mickey said, automatically putting on a petulant air. He hadn't heard her come home—he'd only skipped down to the kitchen to fetch a drink—but there she was, unloading groceries. He kissed her cheek. "Let me help you with that."

He let his aunt ruffle his hair and leave a lipstick imprint on his cheek, and even managed to summon up his usual semi-cheerful self as he put all the groceries away but for those going into dinner. 

"Sit down," he told her, "you've been at work all day. I've got this." 

"Never let anyone tell you you don't know how to take care of your women," she said, and left another lipstick imprint on his cheek. She slung herself into a chair. "As a reward, and because I am absolutely playing favourites, I'll tell _you_ first. Vincente needs a helping hand so if you want to earn some extra pocket money this summer…"

"Which Vincente?" 

"My brother."

Mickey frowned. "What about his own son? Ohhh, has Lorenzo found a real job?"

"Not that I know of." His aunt shrugged. "Go see your uncle about it before the rest of your cousins find out."

"Thank you." Mickey got the chopping board out and surveyed the vegetables. "What were you going to make with this?" He took a bite from a tomato: sweet and juicy.

"Nothing special." She shrugged. "Tell me about _Prague_."

Mickey didn't answer right away, but had a look in the fridge and then again at the vegetables. "I don't feel like eggplant. Hmm. I'm going to flash fry the broccoli in olive oil and garlic. Stir in pasta and fresh tomatoes." He ate the rest of the tomato. 

"Lovely. Now tell me about Prague. And the _boyfriend_." 

"The boyfriend is fine," Mickey said. His aunt tsk'ed, so he resigned himself to recounting every detail of his trip (bar the intensely personal ones) while preparing dinner.

He was in the middle of slicing tomatoes and telling his aunt about giant Czech sausages—the kind that were grilled on a barbecue in the street as a snack—when Sara peeked into the kitchen. Mickey ignored her, finishing the story instead and checking on the boiling pot.

"Where's nonna?" Mickey asked. It was unusual for her not to be home this time of day and he'd missed her. 

"Ohhhhh, she met a _gentleman_! Rumour has it that he's a baker. They're going out for dinner tonight." His aunt poured a glass of white wine for herself, then held out the bottle in a do-you-want-some gesture.

Mickey shook his head in response to the wine, and added pasta to the pot. "So it's just you and me for dinner?"

"And your sister."

Sara had quietly taken a seat at the dining table. Mickey gave her a disinterested look, then shrugged. "Okay." 

Their parents were out, which wasn't out of the ordinary; on Thursdays their dad worked late and this week their mum was away at a conference. Nonna being out as well was odd, and Mickey was secretly glad that their aunt was in today, had it just been him and Sara at the dining table…

"So tell me about this gentleman baker," he said. "Is he nice?"

"Oh, I don't know. Sara is the only one who's managed to get a glimpse of him—"

"Yeah well, I'm not talking to Sara."

Shocked silence descended upon the kitchen. Mickey managed to drain the pasta, stir it in with the broccoli and garlic, and add the halved tomatoes before somebody spoke up.

That somebody was his aunt.

" _Michele Crispino_! Wh—"

"Oh _no_ ," Mickey cut her off. "You don't get to yell at _me._ This is all Sara's fault and she _knows_ it." He slammed a trivet down on the dining table and then set the frying pan on top. To Sara's credit, she had guilt written all over her face.

Mickey couldn't stay. "Enjoy dinner." He left, taking the stairs up two at a time. 

He didn't slam the door to his room, but it was a close thing.

Fighting with Sara was always awful but this time Mickey found it really difficult to care about how awful it was; all the anger and hurt he thought he'd managed to burn away on his run was back in full force. 

She was _wrong_. She had to be. And until she apologised or took it all back he wasn't going to talk to her. Even if it meant never talking to her ever again.

And just like that, all emotion drained out of him and he felt tired and old; his shoulders ached and his eyes burned. 

Maybe he'd talk to Sara again, but not until tomorrow _at least_ , Mickey decided. 

He unplugged the laptop and brought it over to the bed, both hoping and not hoping that Emil was online. He wasn't, which was both a relief and a disappointment. His Instagram feed held nothing of interest aside from an update from Emil; a snapshot of a half packed suitcase.

Mickey took a photo of his face with the lipstick prints and uploaded it to Instagram, captioned _zia ❤._

And then, only then, did he give in to the nagging feeling that Sara might've been just a tiny bit right, and went to Google.

~*~

Mickey had about fourteen tabs open when Sara came knocking. 

"Can I talk to you? I brought food."

He rubbed his eyes. It'd been a long day, and all he wanted was to sleep, not talk to Sara. His stomach was growling at the thought of food, however. "Come in," Mickey said. He closed the useless tabs and pulled up the website he'd been reading. "I don't want to talk to you," he said to Sara when she came in, plate in hand, "I want you to sit there quietly and read this and not talk to me until you've read the whole thing."

"What?" Sara faltered.

Mickey put the laptop back on the desk and plugged it in, then pointed at it. "Sit. Read."

She hesitated, but then handed the plate of food off to Mickey, and sat at the desk. Mickey sat on the bed again, and started eating. It was cold pasta—what looked like a healthy portion of the dish he'd cooked earlier—but still good eating.

God, he was hungry. Mickey forced himself to slow down instead of scarfing the food down like a wild animal, keeping half an eye on Sara's progress with the website. 

He was too tired to be anxious and too angry to be nervous and quite frankly, still too upset to _want_ to feel any of those things at all. Either Sara would get it or she wouldn't—and if she didn't, Mickey would...deal with that, at some unspecified point of time in the future and preferably after sleeping at least once—and there was nothing he could do except...wait.

She finished reading the website and its subpages about the same time Mickey cleared the plate. He could tell because she navigated back to the homepage and scrolled up to the top and then stared at it, instead of turning around to look at him.

Eventually, she did. "Mickey—"

"Say it."

Sara looked down. "I'm sorry," she said, voice soft. "I didn't know."

Mickey's chest suddenly felt lighter. "I still need you to say it," he said. " _Say it_."

"What do you-— _oh_." She flushed. "I'm sorry...there's nothing wrong with you."

"Thank you." Mickey let out a breath. Then, because he didn't know what else to say, he got up and took the plate down to the kitchen.

Sara was still in his room when he came back. She was looking at the website again. "So…" she said, not quite looking at him. "I'm guessing this is new?"

"No, not new. I've always been like this," he said, flopping down on the bed. "But I didn't know that there was a _word_ for it."

"Asexual." Sara said it like she was trying it out. Mickey hadn't said it out loud at all. "I didn't...so...that's you, then?"

"Yeah. I guess. I'm still thinking about it." He let out a long sigh, then a tired chuckle. "You know, I thought the whole sexual attraction thing was a _joke_. Some kind of perverse _game_ , that for some...weird reason, everyone was playing. Like...like ugly fashion fads that everyone pretends to love, just to fit in."

There was a tiny smile on Sara's lips. "Please don't be upset, but...I honestly thought you were just a prude."

Mickey snorted. "I don't think I'm a _prude_. I just think humanity at large is far too obsessed with sex," he declared. "It's stupid. I have other things to think about than who's the next hot fuckable celebrity on whatever dumb television show."

Sara laughed. "Fair enough." She glanced at the laptop screen again. "But...so...this whole being asexual thing…"

"Yeah?"

"Does that mean you and Emil...are going to break up?"

" _What_?!" Mickey stared at her. "Why the fuck would we do that? We're going to get _married_." He punctuated this statement with a definitive gesture. 

"...you're going to get _married_?" Sara was staring. "For real? Married?"

"Yes, obviously." Mickey frowned. "Why, do you not want him as your brother in law?"

"I…" Sara gestured helplessly. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, to be honest. So...really? You're going to marry him?"

"Yes, Sara, we are going to get married," Mickey said, now standing up. He was developing a headache. 

"Does... _Emil_ know that?"

"I haven't proposed yet," Mickey replied. He gestured for her to leave. "I'm going to bed."

"But—" Sara got up, but only reluctantly made her way towards the door. "When are you going to propose?"

"I don't know, in a few years. When the time is right." Mickey reached over and closed the laptop. " _Goodnight_! Go away!"

"Who's proposing?"

Mickey turned. "Papà!" He didn't launch himself at his dad, but it was a near thing. His dad only chuckled and hugged him back. 

"Aren't you a little young to think of marriage?" he said. "I didn't marry your mother until—"

"Mamma turned you down seven times," Mickey pointed out. "And anyway, I haven't proposed yet so it's a moot point."

"But you _are_ going to propose," Sara snickered.

"Well, yes! Of course! That's what you do when you love a person!" Mickey took Sara by the shoulder and steered her out of the room. " _Goodnight_ , Sara, I'm done talking about this."

" _Papà_ ," Sara complained, but their father only shrugged—he sent Mickey a conspiratorial wink—and followed her out. 

Just before Mickey closed the door after them, he heard them whisper together: "Don't tease your brother about this. He's not tough like you, he's a soft boy..."

"I'm plenty tough," Mickey muttered and shut the door.

~*~

Mickey was up at dawn for skate practice. He hadn't skipped practice during his two weeks in Prague, but now it was mid-July and the next season was approaching rapidly. _This_ season he intended to do well. It was his last year at university; if he had a strong season then he could dedicate his time to skating full time after graduation and have another good season or two before he had to eventually retire.

He had to break even this season at the very least, to make up for the financial disaster that had been the second half of the previous season. 

"Let me see you do that again," his coach called out. "Watch your free leg!"

Several rounds of excruciating drills and a few repeats of his free skate (the short program only half finished; that was a task for another day), Mickey's coach released him. Instead of heading straight for the shower, he sat down to text Emil. 

_Safe flight_ , he wrote. _Text me when you get there?_

_ofc_

The message was so short that Mickey just stared at it uncomprehendingly. Was that all Emil was going to say before embarking on a twenty-seven hour journey across the planet? It was petty and entitled, but just twenty-four hours ago they'd been in the same place, and Mickey was...disappointed, that this was it.

Just then a notification came in from snapchat; a message from Emil that turned out to be a group selfie of him and his friends standing in front of the gate, wearing team t-shirts and big grins. Mickey snapped a photo of his skate-clad feet and sent back.

A text message ticked in from Emil. _we're boarding in a sec. miss you._

 _Miss you back. Say hi to the guys and stay alive please,_ Mickey texted back.

Emil sent back a heart emoji, and then nothing. Mickey chugged down the rest of his water and got up. He needed to shower, and then see his uncle about a job.

~*~

He had to tell Emil.

This in itself wasn't exactly a problem; Mickey _wanted_ to tell Emil, wanted to tell him about this thing that made everything suddenly make sense, this thing that made him feel...calm, and secure, and confident that he was...fine.

It was figuring out how, or when, to tell him that was the problem. Not only was Emil currently sitting on a long haul flight and unreachable (upcoming nine hour layover in Bangkok notwithstanding), but he was going to be in Australia for ten days, then on another long flight, and then at home for five days, and _then_ he'd come to Naples. 

There were three options, Mickey figured, one: message him now so he'd see it when he got wifi again, by when Mickey would be asleep; two: wait until Emil was in Australia and tell him over Skype; three: wait seventeen days and tell him _in person_.

Option one seemed cowardly, so Mickey instantly voided that one. The other two...they _had_ agreed to finish their argument at an unspecified later point in time, though calling it an _argument_ now felt wrong. 

No, Mickey corrected in his head, it was an important conversation they needed to have to establish...boundaries? Expectations? Come to an understanding of each and of their feelings and standpoints so they could… " _Ugh_ ," Mickey said, forgetting where he was.

"What was that?" Sara looked up from her magazine. It was her off day, which meant they were at Sara's favourite cafe eating pastries and drinking expensive creamy coffee. Or, Sara was. Mickey had allowed himself a single cup of espresso sweetened with sugar, already empty.

"I'm trying to figure out how to tell Emil," Mickey said, not quite looking at her. He could pretend to be people-watching instead. There were plenty of tourists around.

"Oh. Are you worried about how he'll react?" Sara asked. 

A small stone dropped into Mickey's stomach. "I am _now,_ " he muttered, glaring at a pigeon across the piazza. 

"I'm sorry," Sara said. "I didn't mean to make you nervous. And you know, I'm still sorry about what I said. I was only trying to help."

"I know." Mickey glanced up at Sara. "But viagra? _Really_? I'm twenty-two, not _eighty-_ two."

Sara made a face. "It's the only sex medicine I've heard of! Can you blame me?"

Mickey sighed. "No."

She gave him a thoughtful look. "Can I ask you something, though?"

"What?" Mickey gave her a wary look in return. 

"Well, I googled it some more because I wanted to know more about it, and I'm curious because I found a blog post that talked about being gay and asexual or bi and asexual and straight and whatever at the same time, so I was curious because you've always said you don't like people," Sara said, so fast she nearly ran out breath. "I always thought you were gay but just didn't want to admit it, so that's...the not liking people thing, is that the asexual thing, for you?"

Mickey didn't know what to say. "I think so? There were a lot of words and a lot of definitions. I…" he trailed off. "But then there's Emil."

"Yes, that's what I was wondering about," Sara said. She put down her magazine. "He's not the first person you've ever been in love with, is he?"

"Yeah he is."

"What about Felice?"

"Felic—the boy in our class who kept picking on you?" Mickey blinked. "I _hated_ him!"

"Yeah, I remember. But he didn't actually pick on me," Sara pointed out. "That was Marco, Daniele, Lorenzo and Pino. _And_ our cousin Lorenzo. Felice didn't bother me."

"No, he definitely picked on you," Mickey protested. "He was always hanging around you—"

"Mmhyeah, he was always hanging around _us_ ," she said, with extra emphasis. "So did Emil. And Emil wasn't picking on me either, or trying to ask me out, though you always seemed to think he was trying to get into my pants."

Mickey frowned. "Are you saying Felice was harbouring a crush on me all that time?" 

"No." Sara shrugged. "I don't know if he was. I was wondering if _you_ had a crush on him. You never looked at any of the girls, but you did look at Felice a lot."

"I didn't!" 

He hadn't, had he? He'd only been looking at Felice to glare at him, for daring to come too close to his sister, and he'd been the most handsome boy in their class by far—he'd even had dimples—and it'd been his sworn duty to protect Sara from idiots like him, who didn't know how to properly treat a lady…

Trying to look at it through Sara's point of view, however...Mickey couldn't honestly say that he recalled a single incident of Felice picking on Sara. He'd smiled at her, or joked with her, or any number of nice things, that Mickey had chased him off for. Undeservedly, in retrospect. Christ, but he'd really been an overprotective asshole, hadn't he? And Felice...

Mickey groaned and put his face in his hands. "Felice had dimples," he said.

"Yes," Sara agreed. Mickey didn't need to look at her to know the triumphant look on her face. 

"Emil also has dimples," Mickey added, reluctantly.

" _Yes_ ," Sara agreed. This time Mickey looked up. She was grinning like the cat that had gotten the canary. 

"This doesn't mean anything," Mickey told her, petulantly. "I still don't like people." 

"I have no doubt in my heart about that, brother dearest." Sara smirked. "But I think you have a _type_."

"Two is a coincidence!" Mickey sputtered. 

"Okay, but what about that guy whatshisname, Vittore? Vittorio? From university, the one you kept ranting—"

"Vittorino, and he does _not_ have dimples and also he's an asshole who kept taking my seat in the auditorium and one time he borrowed my notes and _never_ gave them back!" Mickey crossed his arms. He was aware that his cheeks were flaming red, but he didn't care. "Honestly, Sara, that is an _insult_."

"All right. I apologise for the insult." Sara picked up her coffee and finished it off, her eyes were twinkling with mirth. "He is very handsome, though."

"He's an _asshole_ ," Mickey muttered. "Are you done now? Can we go home?"

She stood up. "Come on, then."

~*~

 _Related to that fight_ , Mickey wrote in the subject line. Then he deleted it. _There's something I have to tell you_ , he wrote instead. No. _Important stuff,_ he wrote.

Leaving the subject line at that, he moved on to the body of the email, several links already pasted in. The cursor blinked at the top. How did one start an email that was going to essentially boil down to _sorry but I've never been sexually attracted to you or anyone else in my life_? 

This was the root of the fight he'd had with Emil the other day, and if there was anything Mickey was sure of, it was that he didn't want to hurt him. 

_Before you read this_

Mickey stared at the blinking cursor hanging off the end of that unfinished sentence. _And then what_? I'm sorry? I love you? I don't mean to hurt you? I'm sorry for who I am? No. I'm not sorry for who I am, Mickey thought, and started typing again.

_Before you read this: I love you._

_I realised something about myself and I think it's important. It's kind of about that fight we had and kind of just about me. I don't know how else to tell you about it, so I'm writing instead of calling you. We can talk after? Maybe? It's not that I don't want to talk I just don't know if I can keep all my thoughts straight and explain things nicely and this way at least I can make sure I've got everything. I hope that's okay. You can write me back if you also don't want to talk._

_Anyway, so...here goes: I'm about 99.99% sure I'm asexual. Did you know that was a thing? I didn't know, but there it is._

_I don't know yet what it means for us. Maybe it means nothing. It's not like I'm a different person? It's just a word. But: I'm doing a lot of thinking anyway. I thought the world was one way and now I've found out it's another way entirely, and it's a lot like...I guess this is how people felt when they realised Earth wasn't the centre of the universe. I'm not the centre of the universe. But I don't have any other reference point for how I feel about things so I guess I'm just realigning myself in the grand scheme of things? _

_To try to explain: I thought it was normal to think of sex as just this unimportant thing that was occasionally nice and usually utilitarian, and that the whole...sex industry? I don't mean prostitutes but you know, the whole thing like in the movies when strangers hook up or articles about healthy sex lives and actually wanting someone for sex and all that, I just didn't understand it. Still don't understand it. But it turns out it's a real thing? I thought it was all a joke. A big perverted joke. _

_I guess I've been pretty judgmental for no good reason, so I'm sorry about that._

_Here's a bunch of links about asexuality. Please read them. #3 is very close to how I feel about things, I think, maybe except for points eleven and fifteen._

_It's a bit weird because I don't feel any different but at the same time there's all these new words about me and it feels like it should be different, but it's not. And yet._

_Maybe you can tell me what the other side feels like? I want to understand._

_I love you. We'll talk soon._

_Mickey_

It took almost two hours and several rounds of editing before Mickey was happy with the email. He didn't send it yet, opting instead to get up and fetch a drink of water and a bite of food—he was running a little late for his appointment at the dance studio. He'd send the email later. Read over it a second time.

Emil had landed in Australia two hours prior, provided the flight had been on schedule. It had been on schedule according to the text Emil had sent Mickey in the middle of the night, before he boarded in Bangkok. Now Mickey was watching the digits on the microwave change as he loaded up on carbs, wondering where Emil was. Stuck in customs? 

His phone rang.

"I'm on my way," he said as he answered, in Italian, assuming it was his coach. 

"What does that mean?" somebody asked on the other end.

It took Mickey's brain a full second to realise that the voice on the other end was not his coach and that it was speaking English. "Emil! Sorry, I wasn't expecting—I thought it was my coach calling. Did you just land, or?"

"We just got to the hotel," Emil said. "We're about to go down to the beach for a bit but I think we're already a bit jetlagged so won't stay long…"

"What time is it?" Mickey frowned at the microwave clock. "Dinner?"

"Probably, though it feels like three am is suddenly in daylight. What're you up to?"

"I've got dance in a bit, and after that I'm running errands for my uncle. And it's Saturday, so I'm going out for dinner with Sara and some of our friends later." Mickey gulped down a large bite of toast.

"Say hi to Sara from me," Emil said. "I'm gonna go—"

"Hang on, before you go," Mickey said, putting down the last bite of toast. "Is it okay if I send you an email? I mean like, an important email. You don't have to read it right away or anything, and anyway it'll be later today so you'll probably be asleep or maybe it'll already be morning in Australia and you're out, or something, and you don't have to reply right away either. Is that okay? I didn't want to just spring it on you," he finished, running his fingers over the tabletop for want of something to do, or maybe in an attempt to pretend the sudden spike of anxiety in his chest was unrelated to the email.

"What do you mean? Is it something _bad_?" Emil sounded uncharacteristically nervous. "What is it about?"

"Nothing bad," Mickey hurried to reassure him. "Unless you think it is—I mean, it's about me and that fight we had, and I just meant that you don't have to rush to read it or anything, just...when you have time."

"Oh. Okay." Emil hesitated. "Sure."

"Okay." Mickey threw the last bite of toast into the trash. "I've got to go, I'm actually running late for dance. Have fun at the beach? And stay away from brightly coloured sea critters. They're probably venomous."

"We have a pamphlet about all the venomous and poisonous things to stay away from," Emil said, the smile in his voice clear through the phone. "Should I tell the guys hi from you?"

"Yeah, do that. Skype tomorrow? Or when our schedules and time zones align next time?"

"Definitely. All right, I'm going. Talk later."

They hung up and Mickey went to find his shoes. His phone rang again. This time it was his coach, wondering where the hell he was.

~*~

Mickey woke up when his phone rang. It was dark and the house was quiet, save for the insistent buzzing of the phone on the table. It went silent before Mickey could gather his wits enough to get to it, and when he did he learned two things: he had missed a call from Emil, and also it was six minutes past five in the morning.

The phone rang again. 

"Hello?" Mickey rolled over again, pulling the covers up. He didn't turn the lamp on, hoping he would be able to go back to sleep.

"Mickey, this explains _everything_ ," Emil said on the other end. "Just—"

"It's five in the morning," Mickey said, too sleepy to comprehend or care about what was Emil was saying. "Let me sleep."

"Oh—shit, sorry—" There was a noise like a scramble on the other end. "I forgot to check the time. It's just, uh, I just read your email…should I call you later?"

A jolt went through Mickey and the sleepiness evaporated.

"No, I'm awake now." Mickey rolled onto his back. "So...you read my email?"

"Yeah! And it explains everything, I mean, it explains _you_ , and…" Emil trailed off. "It feels like the Michele Crispino puzzle just got solved."

"I'm not a puzzle." 

"Well, no, but you have been incredibly puzzling in the past, so I feel justified in saying it," Emil said.

Mickey didn't know what to say to that. Also it was five in the morning. On a _Sunday_. It was his off day so he'd been planning to _sleep_. Ideally all day. Or until his mum came back from the conference, anyway.

"Hey," Emil said. "I should let you sleep. But I wanted to say...thank you for telling me. Do you...do you want to talk about it later? I have so many questions."

"Write them down," Mickey said, and tried to suppress a yawn. "Skype later? Let's text."

"Yeah." Emil sounded relieved. "Can I ask you one question now though?"

Mickey hesitated. "Uhm. Okay, yes. Go ahead."

"So...you put 'I love you' in this email twice and I was wondering...uhm, does it bother you? That I haven't said it back yet?"

The silence stretched between them. Eventually, Mickey exhaled. "A little bit," he said. "Sometimes. Not all the time."

"I...ah…"

"It's no big deal. I know you love me. And words are hard." Mickey closed his eyes. The darkness there was more comforting than the darkness in his room. "Does it bother you? That I say it so often?"

"Sometimes." Emil was quiet. "It feels very big, you know? Shit, that just sounds like, like, I don't want to commit to you, or something, and that's not it because I already _am_ , it's just...big."

"Maybe we should fight less," Mickey said then. "Because that's when the big words come out."

Emil made a sound like a laugh and a sniffle. "I'd like it if it wasn't just when we fight."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Does now count?" Mickey rolled onto his side. The sky was lightening, he noticed. The sun would be up soon.

Pause. "I think now counts."

"I love you," Mickey said.

On the other end, Emil drew in a sharp breath. "Jesus, Mickey," he said.

"Bit much?"

"Yeah. Feels like my heart is going to explode. It's definitely too big for my body right now." There was a sound like some deep breathing taking place.

Mickey grinned. "See, it's when you say things like that that I know you love me," he said.

"Go to sleep," Emil said. "I'm going to hang up on you now."

"Text me later," Mickey said. A few seconds later there was a click and the call ended. Mickey let the phone drop and sighed, then got up. He wouldn't be getting back to sleep at all, now.

~*~

Mickey was on his second cup of coffee when his father came downstairs. Everyone else was still asleep, the house quiet and illuminated by pink and gold. Mickey poured him a generous helping of coffee, and the two sipped their drinks in silence.

"Do you want to come with me when I go pick up your mother later?"

"Yes." 

"That was a silly question." His father smiled over his coffee. "You always come with. Sara could never be bothered, but you'd be on the back seat every time."

"I don't have a favourite parent if that's what you're insinuating," Mickey said, smiling back. "It's just that pick up hugs are the best hugs."

"I believe it."

Mickey contemplated the coffee pot. Breakfast in the form of liquid caffeine wasn't his usual fare, but it also wasn't completely out of the ordinary. He wouldn't mind a third cup, once he'd finished this one… He opened the fridge, looking for alternatives.

"I'll make you breakfast," his dad said and gestured for him to sit. "Any requests?"

"No." Mickey sat, taking his half finished coffee with him. "Whatever you feel like making."

His dad poked around in the fridge, then turned the oven on and fetched the cast iron frying pan. Mickey watched with interest as the ingredients piled up on the counter: eggs, tomatoes, spinach, herbs. 

"Not just feeding me?"

"I don't have a favourite child," his father replied with a twinkle in his eye, and Mickey grinned.

Mickey sipped his coffee, watching his father work, and when the coffee was gone, turned the mug round in his hands. 

The kitchen smelled wonderful.

"Hey papà?"

"Yes?" 

"You know Emil is coming over next month, right?"

"Ah yes, your _heart's intended_ ," his father said, making a little dramatic flourish. He slid the pan into the oven. 

"Yes," Mickey said. "I wanted to ask…" he looked into his empty mug as if there was any refuge to be found there. "Would it be okay if he stayed in my room while here? I don't want to make him get a hotel or anything, and we don't have a guest room, and I don't want to ask zia if she could go stay with a friend or something so he could get her room—"

"I assumed you'd want him to stay with you," his father said. "Did you think we wouldn't like it? Sara's girlfriend stayed with her when she was here."

"Yeah, but Sara shares her room with nonna, so I figured she was allowed because she'd have adult supervision," Mickey said. "You _know_." He gestured.

His father came over to sit opposite. "Your grandmother moved temporarily into your aunt's room while Mila was visiting," he said. "You didn't know? You were in Prague, but I thought Sara would've told you."

Mickey shook his head. He didn't quite know what to say. "I...no. So...that's fine? It's not weird for you?"

"You and Sara are adults," his father said. "If you want to bring your boyfriends or girlfriends home, you are more than welcome to do that, especially if the alternative is borrowing my car only to park it somewhere and have sex in it."

" _Papà_!" Mickey flushed, and belatedly covered his face. "You can't just say stuff like that!"

"Stuff like what? _Sex_?" his father chuckled. "Would you rather I pretend it's something my children are definitely not having?"

"Oh my _god_ , papà, _please stop talking_ ," Mickey muttered.

"Just promise me that you won't be having sex in my car," his father said. "It's very uncomfortable to have sex in a car and a pain in the ass to clean up afterwards. Trust me about this. I was young once."

" _Oh my god_ ," Mickey said, again. He'd lowered his face to the tabletop, his arms covering his head. " _Stop_."

It was quiet for a while. Just when Mickey thought it was safe to look up again, his father spoke. "I had this exact same conversation with your sister, you know."

"And what? She got through it completely unfazed?" Mickey asked, miserably.

His father laughed. "Oh no, she looked like she was going to die of embarrassment. She was redder than a tomato and about the size of my thumb." He got up to check on the oven. "She couldn't look me in the eye for two days straight."

At this, Mickey finally looked up. In a bid to one-up his sister, he steeled himself and turned, meeting his father's eyes straight on. "Really?"

" _Don't_ tease her about it." 

Mickey let out a breath. "To be completely honest with you, papà, I am going to forget everything you have said to me in the past ten minutes or so. For the sake of my sanity."

"Mmh." His father was nodding very seriously, but there was betraying glint of amusement in his eyes. "Don't forget the part about where Emil slee—"

"Okay!" Mickey said, a little too loudly, and got up from the table. "This conversation is now _over_. I'll be back when the food is ready."

~*~

Mickey's increasingly busy schedule as he juggled skate practice, dance practice, and hours at his uncle's butchery paired with Emil's being on the other side of the planet doing reckless things like surfing and throwing himself out of planes, meant that skypeing just wasn't happening. Calls were few and far between as well. 

The last time Mickey had heard from Emil was two days previous, when Emil had sent him a series of text messages at what was about 1AM in Australia, to talk about the stars being different on the Southern Hemisphere.

 _I never thought I'd take the stars for granted but every time I look at this sky it's strange and unfamiliar,_ he'd said.

 _What kind of constellations do they have down there?_ Mickey had asked in return. 

Emil had sent him back several low quality photos of the sky, taken with his phone, and explained what he was looking at. A few hours later, he'd emailed Mickey a few high-res photos of the same sky taken with a professional camera.

Now it was 11PM and Mickey was getting ready for bed, when Emil came online on Skype and called him. Mickey accepted the call.

"Good morning," he said, as soon as the connection came through. 

"You don't have a shirt on," was Emil's greeting. "Good morning _indeed_."

"I was about to go to bed," Mickey said.

"Oh...so you _don't_ want to see the skydiving video?"

"What?" Mickey involuntarily leaned back from the laptop. 

"We just got it," Emil said, moving aside so Mickey could see his friends huddled around a different laptop, shouting and clapping each other on the back at whatever they were watching. "The company emailed it to us this morning."

"I…" Mickey's heart was thumping uncomfortably. "I can't say that I want to...but…"

"I've just forwarded you the email," Emil said, just as Mickey's gmail notifier pinged. 

Somebody shouted something in the background and then everybody was cheering. Emil turned to look, then said something in Czech. 

Mickey opened the email and then the attached link. The video opened and played for about five seconds before Mickey hit pause; it started onboard the plane with the camera panning around the cabin and the open door to the outside.

"Is somebody wearing a camera on their head?" Mickey asked, staring at the paused image. The ground was _very far away_. 

"I am! Adam and Jakub also had cameras, and it was all cut together. Are you watching?"

"I paused it." Mickey looked at the Skype app instead, at Emil, but found he couldn't help glancing at the still image. "I assume that since nobody died or got hurt…"

"We're all here, all heads and limbs accounted for." Emil smiled, then moved aside again to show Mickey that they were all there. Somebody was drinking coffee, the other three were watching the video again.

"Okay…" Mickey started the video again. It was all right to begin with, just the bunch of them in their gear talking and laughing, but when the first person jumped out of the plane, Mickey's hands came up to cover his eyes. "Oh god. I don't think I can watch this."

"Is it that bad?"

Mickey looked through his fingers. It was an incomplete view, but he could see that they were definitely still falling, the parachutes not deployed yet. " _Jesus_. How long does it take to fall?"

There was a lot of chatter in Czech all of a sudden, and laughter. Movement on Emil's webcam, though Mickey wasn't looking at that. He was still watching the video through his fingers, unable to understand why they were all _smiling_ while in free fall towards the ground. "I'm going to have nightmares about this," Mickey muttered.

The parachutes were deployed eventually, and things slowed down, but it was so _high_. Mickey had never been afraid of heights, but _this_...the line had to be drawn _somewhere_. 

"When does it end?" he asked.

"Soon enough," Emil said. "You don't have to watch it if you don't want to, you know."

Mickey didn't answer, just kept looking. Eventually the ground came closer and then it resolved into a beach, and they were all hitting the ground running, parachutes dragging after them, and in one case, folding right over. The video ended, and Mickey let his hands drop away. "You are all crazy."

"Maybe." There was a hint of a smile in Emil's voice, and when Mickey looked he saw that everyone was crowded behind Emil looking at the monitor. Jakub waved. Pavel said something in Czech that had both Adam and Emil elbow him, everyone laughed, and then dropped away to go do something else. "Sorry about that," Emil said, but he was smiling.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing."

Mickey frowned. 

Emil sighed. "They think you're cute." He glanced down, then back up. "And, uh, Pavel suggested taking you along on our next skydive, but he was just joking."

"Yeah _no_ , that's never happening," Mickey declared. "I'll stick to figure skating as my choice of death sport, thanks." He shuddered. "Speaking of skating, I should go. I have early practice in the morning."

"Yeah, okay. You're not _really_ going to have nightmares, are you?" Emil was leaning towards the screen, fingers tugging at a strand of hair.

"Your hair is getting long," Mickey said. "Talk later?"

"Yeah." Emil rubbed his face. He looked tired all of a sudden."Good night."

~*~

Almost five whole days passed before Mickey could talk to Emil properly again, but finally, _finally_ , he was back home in Prague and could get on Skype at a decent hour. It was just as well, Mickey had been growing increasingly anxious as they kept exchanging short messages and not getting to talk about any of the things they really _needed_ to talk about.

Was it still an elephant in a room when you weren't even in the same room? This elephant had stretched across the globe, getting bigger in the process. 

"Hey." Emil had just come online. He looked tired, which was to be expected after another long journey, but he also looked relaxed.

"Good to be home?" Mickey asked.

"Yeah." Emil exhaled. "I'm sleeping in my own bed tonight and I can't _wait_."

Mickey smiled. "I'd say I'm sorry to drag you away from it so soon, but I'm not. And everyone is excited to meet you."

"I've met your parents," Emil said. "At competitions."

"Yeah, but this is different." 

Emil made a noise of assent. "My coach isn't super happy that I'm away so much this summer."

"You'll be at the rink with me, though? We'll make videos." 

"Yeah."

They fell quiet, neither really knowing what to say. Emil looked exhausted but also like he didn't really want to go, and Mickey both wanted and didn't want to bring up the topic that'd been pressing at the back of his skull for days.

In the end, he opted for a lighter topic. "Hey so, we're going to my aunt's silver wedding anniversary. Bring something classy to wear."

This got Emil's attention. "We're...what?"

"My aunt's silver wedding—twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. It's a big party. You'll come?"

"Oh...sure. I didn't know we were at the plus one stage," Emil said, bewildered look on his face.

"It's just a party." Mickey suppressed the urge to bite his lip. "Do you...not want to?"

"No, I want to!" Emil replied. "So, uhm, which aunt is this? The one who lives with you?"

"No, that's my dad's sister. She's not married," Mickey explained. "This is my mum's sister. Big sister, I think, she has three of them. Oh and my parents have their silver anniversary next year."

"I should come to that one too?"

"If you can make it. No pressure."

"Mmh." Emil rubbed his eyes. "And the dress code? What does classy mean in this context? What are _you_ wearing? A suit?"

Mickey smiled. "Just black trousers and a nice shirt. White silk, probably. It's my favourite."

Emil had paused and was now staring at Mickey through the screen. "Is it a _tight_ shirt?"

"Sort of?" Mickey's cheeks heated. "It's...it has a nice fit."

"A nice fit, huh?" Emil grinned.

Mickey looked away. "It's just a shirt."

There was a small pause, then: "Am I making you uncomfortable? Hey. Mickey. Please look at me?" 

A deep breath to steel his nerves, and Mickey looked at the screen again. "I don't know what to say."

"Well…" Emil shrugged nervously. "We should...talk."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed. He rubbed his face. "How do we start? How do we...not yell at each other?"

Emil drummed his fingers against the desk. The sound carried through the speakers slightly warbled. "My mum gave me some advice earlier, and I thought it sounded good? Uhm. So, she said, to try to use I-statements instead of you-statements. To talk about how something makes you feel instead of what the other person is doing? She said it was about avoiding being accusatory and instead of explaining how a given thing makes you feel…"

"Yeah, that sounds like something your mum would say," Mickey said. He gave Emil a wry smile. "She's not going to bill us for it, is she?" he added in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"I might have to do some dishes." Emil shrugged, then cleared his throat. "So, uhm. What...how…" He gestured. "Okay, so, about before. When it got weird."

"Yeah. Uhm." Mickey looked down. "It's when you…" He caught himself, and stopped to think. "It feels like...it's.. _lewd_. I mean, it's just a nice shirt? And I'm not even wearing it? So when you say things like that with that _tone_ I feel like I'm...in a new context about sex that I didn't want to be in? It's just a shirt. I don't…" He frowned. "Am I saying it right? Does it make any sense?"

"I...ah…" Emil was frowning as well. "Are you saying that it feels like I'm objectifying you?"

Mickey stared. "I don't know. Maybe? It's hard to describe the feeling. It's just...uncomfortable." He thought for a bit. "It's like there's an expectation?"

"Of...sex?"

"Yeah."

"That makes sense, I guess." Emil moved a few items around in his desk, then moved them back. "I can see how you'd feel that."

"It feels like I should apologise, but at the same time not? It's confusing. I'm sorry."

Emil cracked a smile. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that it's not about sex all the time?"

"It's not?" Mickey's stomach flipped. "What about before?"

"Maybe a little bit." Emil did a little half shrug. "I _was_ imagining how a tight silk shirt might show off your body. But, you know, that's because I like you. And you're…" Emil's webcam quality wasn't great, but his cheeks were definitely pink. "Really, _really_ good looking."

"Oh...so…" Mickey struggled to find the words. "So, uhm, to go back to the I-statements thing...how...uhm. How do you feel about it?"

Emil exhaled. "To be completely honest?" 

Mickey nodded. 

"I feel like I'm being rejected. It's like...I don't know, I'm trying to show that I like you? And then you get weird about it and I feel like I did something wrong." He wasn't looking at the Mickey. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that you're weird, it's just. I don't know what to do to make it _not_ weird."

"I'm sorry," Mickey said eventually. There was a pinprick of pain in his chest, somewhere around his heart. "I didn't realise that's what it feels like for you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't realise you were feeling pressured," Emil said. "I'm sorry about that."

Mickey took a few deep breaths. "Time out? I mean, I'm feeling pretty worn out and...okay, this wasn't...painful _at all_ , and I could use a change in topic, or...call it quits for now and talk later?"

"Yeah," Emil agreed. Then he shook his head, laughing. "Look at us. Talking like rational adults."

"Progress." Mickey smiled back. "Next step: figure out what to do with this knowledge."

"Okay, now you sound like my mum," Emil said. "And she is an actual psychologist so she's _allowed_."

Mickey groaned. "Can I change the topic now?" 

" _Yes_. What were we talking about? Your aunt's party?"

"Yes. But actually, I want to show you something wild." Mickey stood up and pulled down his pyjamas.

" _Whoa_ whoa, what are you—"

"It's just a bruise!" Mickey turned so Emil could see his left side, and tugged down his underwear as well. His hip was one huge mess of deep purple and blue. "I had a bad landing in practice today. Crazy, right? Coach actually took me to have my hip x-rayed because it hurt so much, but it was fine. I've had ice on it all day."

"Oh, _Jesus_. Way to give me a heart attack," Emil said, then leaned closer to the screen. "That looks _terrible_."

"You've seen me naked before," Mickey pointed out.

"Yeah, but after the conversation we just had I wasn't expecting you to just drop your pants out of the blue," Emil said. "Can you come closer?"

Mickey pushed his desk chair out of the way. He tugged the laptop closer as well. "It doesn't hurt anymore except when I poke it, so practice tomorrow should be fine." He poked the bruise. It was sore, but not outright painful.

"It hurts just looking at it," Emil said. "Please cover that up. And please also don't hurt yourself tomorrow. How did that happen anyway?"

"I messed up a quad Lutz." Mickey pulled up his trousers and sat back down. "I want a quad Lutz-triple loop combo in my free skate."

"A _quad_ Lutz? _Nobody_ is doing quad Lutz jumps," Emil said, not without a hint of awe. "Nobody except for Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Katsuki, anyway. And Christophe Giacometti."

"Plisetsky," Mickey added. "He posted a video on Instagram the other day."

Emil made an assenting noise. "Yeah, okay. Why didn't you have a jump harness?"

"I was doing well with it—well, no clean landings, but close enough—so we thought I should try without." Mickey shrugged. "If I want to compete on their level, then I should actually get on their level, right?"

"Yeah." Emil sighed. "Those guys make it look so bloody _easy_. I'd hate them if they weren't so _nice_."

"You wouldn't hate them anyway," Mickey said. 

"Totally would."

"Okay, one: Plisetsky is an actual asshole but you like him anyway, and two: _you_ are too nice." Mickey raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Emil made a face. "I'm not _that_ nice."

"Maybe, but you fell in love with _me_ so I'm inclined to think you are."

"You're not an asshole, though."

Mickey crossed his arms.

"Okay, you are sometimes a colossal asshole," Emil admitted. "But it's not...whatever, doesn't matter. You never said what I should bring to wear to your aunt's party."

"Something classy," Mickey replied, letting the change of topic slide. "You don't need to bring a suit. Just...the kind of outfit you'd wear out on a night in town."

Emil considered this. "You're wearing a white silk shirt?" He waited for Mickey to confirm, then continued: "So I could dress for a gay club and be fine?"

Mickey sputtered. "That's not what I said!"

"Have you ever been to a gay club?"

"No, but—"

"Trust me, _it's gay_." Emil looked annoyingly confident and smirky.

"It's just the current fashion!" Mickey tried to reason. "It's not...it's a shirt."

"I know, I know, I'm teasing. I don't have a gay outfit, but I'll find something nice to put on. Anything else I should know? Are we expected to bring a gift or something?"

"No...no, it's fine." Mickey tried to suppress a yawn. He'd had a shift in the shop after practice, despite how disastrous it'd been, and it was catching up with him. "Just show up."

"Do I have a choice?" Emil's mouth quirked. "Since I'll be with you anyway."

"We don't have to go," Mickey admitted. "We can do something else if you don't want to go. But...this is my family, and I'd like to introduce you to them."

Emil looked away for a moment. "Jesus, Mickey. I'd make a joke about showing me off but you're actually serious."

"Yeah," Mickey said. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Emil answered a few beats later. "I don't hope so? Your family is _huge_."

"I won't quiz you on them or anything." This time, Mickey couldn't suppress his yawn. "They'll love you, I promise."

Emil rubbed his face. "Why, because _you_ do?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

~*~

_Hey Mickey_

_I've never written a letter to anyone before, just emails sometimes, but this feels more like a letter than an email? Anyway I didn't want to just let your letter sit in my inbox unanswered, because it feels like I'm ignoring it even though I know that's not true._

_I also thought I'd try your method of writing to you, because I'm nervous and it might come out wrong on the phone or Skype or in person. Maybe it'll come out wrong anyway, but I'll try._

_I'm nervous that things will be awkward when I come to Naples, or weird or uncomfortable or something like that. It feels like I suddenly don't know how to...be around you? And that sounds bad, like I'm trying to blame you or something, but I'm not, I just keep thinking about stupid things like...can I touch you? I've been reading those links you sent me and I looked up some more and I guess my brain is just kind of confused because on one hand there's all the stuff we have done and on the other hand there's all these rules about comfort levels and they're all different._

_I don't know, you said you don't feel different, so maybe I'm worrying about nothing. It's just words, right? But my mum says words have power, and also the power to change and redefine things (I know it's annoying but she's really smart), and I guess what I'm trying to say is I understand if things will change for you now and maybe that will change our relationship, but I still worry about it. Is that selfish? I don't want to be an entitled selfish asshole but I also don't want to give up everything. And I don't want to make you feel like you have to do things just to keep me around? But I also don't want us to break up over this. Like I get that sometimes people just don't work out together (it's what happened in my last relationship and that sucked) but I'm scared we'll end up there. Like if we are going to break up it shouldn't be about this, but something else. I don't know what else. Just not this._

_I always wish we didn't have to do long distance but I'm really hating it right now because I just really need to touch you. I'm really scared that I'll come to Naples and it'll be weird and that'll be the end. I'm not ready for this to end._

_It's kind of ironic I guess but right now I do feel like a stupid teenager who doesn't know anything, and you were always so cool. That's why I got so upset about what you said, you know. It was like you'd discovered I'm a fraud, or something. I told mum (sorry) and she said she was concerned about our age difference (sorry). I didn't use to be, you know? But I also can't help wondering if she's right. And that sounds...horrible, I'm sorry, I don't know how to not make it sound horrible. I don't really understand what I'm feeling. I just know it hurts._

_I'm going to stop now before all my ugly selfish thoughts come out and hurt you._

_I don't know how to end this. How did people use to end letters back in the day? Best regards? Sounds stupid. I'll see you at the airport tomorrow. I can't wait to see you but I'm also terrified._

_(I'll probably be a sleep deprived nervous wreck, sorry. It's three am and I don't know if I can sleep.)_

_Emil_

_-_

_Hey again just wanted to clarify quickly that the previous email is NOT a break up letter I am NOT breaking up with you I just have a lot of weird feelings_

_Emil_

_~*~_

The timestamp on Emil's first email was 03.12 and 03.16 on the second. Mickey took a few deep breaths, then checked his watch. He still had two hours until he had to be at the airport; it was a two hour flight from Prague to Naples and Emil had just texted him that he was boarding, and by the way he'd sent him an email in the night. 

It felt like more than just a few minutes since he'd received that text.

The email he didn't know what do about. There were emotions doing things in his gut and there was a lump in his throat. There were also tears on his cheeks.

"God damn it," he muttered and wiped his cheeks on his sleeves. Was this how Emil had felt when he'd read Mickey's email? He hadn't sounded that upset when he'd called, but now…

Mickey allowed the sobs through and let himself have a few minutes of undeterred crying. 

Evidently they had a _lot_ to talk about.

He wiped his cheeks again, then got up. He was going to pick Emil up at the airport and maybe cling to him a little, because Emil wasn't the only one who needed to touch, and then...then they'd go from there. Somehow.

But first...Mickey went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water in in his face. Then he went downstairs to the kitchen.

"Have you been crying?" His mother and aunt asked in unison. They were sitting at the kitchen table going over their shared collection of recipes.

"I think I still am." It came out thick and wobbly. Mickey poured himself a large glass of water. "It's nothing."

The two of them shared a look. "Did you have an argument with Emil?" His mother asked.

"We're just...going through a rough patch, I guess." Mickey drained the glass, and then refilled it. This one he drank from slower.

"But he's still coming today?"

"Yeah."

Another shared look.

"Honey, why don't you sit down and tell us what's going on?" His aunt pulled out a chair.

Mickey stayed where he was by the sink. He looked into his glass. "It's nothing. I just…" He hadn't told anyone but Sara and Emil, but not because...it just wasn't… "A few weeks ago, I told him I'm asexual." He took a sip from the glass, resolutely not looking neither his mum nor his aunt in the eye.

There was an audible gasp and then some hasty whispering. Mickey didn't look at either of them. 

"Is he giving you trouble about it?" That was his mother's voice. 

"No," Mickey replied, then shrugged. "It's just stuff. We'll be fine."

"Baby." His mother again. She'd gotten up, and was gently steering Mickey towards the table, arm around his waist. She was a short woman, his mother. "My soft boy."

"I'm not soft," Mickey mumbled. "I'm just...me." 

"It's not a bad thing to be soft," she said. "It's not a bad thing to have as many feelings as you do."

Mickey's heart clenched, and a fresh batch of tears welled up in his eyes. "Emil is worried this will end us, and now _I'm_ worried, and…" He wiped his eyes angrily. "It's stupid because I _know_ we'll get through this, so I don't know what I'm crying about."

"It's natural to be scared, even if you're sure about a thing. It doesn't mean you're not sure. It just means you're scared."

"Mamma, I'm going to _marry_ him."

"Oh, I know, baby." His mother smiled. "Don't look at me like that! I'm your mother."

"Your use of words clued us in, though," Mickey's aunt interjected. 

"Ugh." Mickey emptied his glass of water. He couldn't say he was feeling better—he likely wouldn't until he saw Emil again and could reassure himself that they were okay, or that they were going to be.

"You know...if you want to talk about the asexuality thing…" His aunt waited until Mickey looked her in the eye, then continued: "you can talk to me. I know what it's like."

Mickey stared at her. "You do?"

"Why do you think I never married?" She shrugged. 

"Because you chose your career over starting a family?" Mickey asked.

She smiled. "That too, but it's not the only reason. To put it bluntly, I want nothing to do with dating and sex and relationships," she said, giving him a nonchalant shrug. "It's very unappealing."

I don't think it is, Mickey almost said. There were things he didn't want his mother to know, or his aunt, or even Sara. Just them knowing about his... _lack_ of attraction to people felt like too much sensitive information. "But zia. Don't you want to love someone?"

"I _do_ love someone." She reached over to give him a squeeze and a large smooch on the cheek. He now no doubt had a large purple lipstick smear on his cheek. "I love you and your sister, and my friends, and my job. It's all I want and all I need to be happy."

Mickey considered this, then glanced at his mother who just shrugged as if to say _don't look at me, your aunt's always been a bit odd._ "What about papà?"

"Would I live in his house if I didn't love my little brother?" she answered with a twinkle in her eye. "That goes without saying. He's my _favourite_ brother." 

"Yeah, okay." Mickey drew in a deep breath. "Sara is going to kill me before she lets me live with her, so it's probably a good thing that's never going to happen."

"Oh, he's joking!" His mother slammed her palm onto the table. "I declare crying session over. Next time, cry on your dad. He's much better at dealing with feelings."

Mickey shook his head. "Fine. Can I borrow the car? To pick up Emil."

"Yes, yes, just don't have sex in it," his mother said. "It's a pain to clean up—"

" _Mamma_!" Mickey shot out of the chair, scandalised. "I'll just take the bus! _God_!" He backed away from the two of them. "Don't you dare laugh!"

"I'm not laughing!" said this mother, absolutely laughing. 

Mickey fled the kitchen.

"You can borrow mine!" his aunt yelled after him.

"I'm not going to _now_!" Mickey yelled back and ran up the stairs. He nearly collided with Sara on the landing.

"What are you yelling about?"

"Please come with and chaperone when I go to pick up Emil," Mickey begged her.

She stared at him. "No?"

"Ugh," Mickey groaned and stomped off to the bathroom to wash his face again.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Mickey took the bus to the airport. He'd stopped by the florist's first—an aunt on his mother's side, which meant he'd gotten a family discount—so he was carrying a voluminous bouquet in pinks and greens; it was a fluffy mixture of pale pink roses and carnations along with darker pink flowers Mickey didn't know the names of and filler greenery to give it substance.

It was a delicate thing and Mickey hoped Emil would like it. He waited outside arrivals, clutching the bouquet with clammy fingers, and his heart in his throat. 

Eventually, finally, Emil came out. His hair was tousled, but less so than usual; he'd gotten a haircut since last Mickey had seen him. 

"Hey," Mickey said, lip wobbling.

"Hey," Emil said back. 

"I got you flowers," Mickey said, but he didn't hand the bouquet over. Or rather, he was going to, but then aborted midway, and instead stepped into Emil's space and pulled him into a hug.

The bouquet was probably upside down, Mickey wasn't sure. Emil was clutching him hard.

Mickey wanted to relax into the hug, just breathe him in, but he was acutely aware of the people milling about around them, the noise of the airport, and how tense Emil was.

"You can hug me anytime," Mickey said, and before Emil could say anything to that, continued: "I read your email."

"Aw shit, I probably shouldn't have sent that—"

"Yes you should have," Mickey told him and stepped away. He gave Emil the bouquet, finally. "Take this, I'll get your bag."

Emil relinquished the bag, and took the bouquet. He touched the petals of one of the pink carnations. "About that email, though…" 

"Not here, please. I promise we'll have plenty of time to talk later." Mickey gestured towards the exit. "Let's go home?"

"Yeah," Emil exhaled. 

The ride home passed in silence, neither of them looking at each other. The scent of flowers wafted off the bouquet in the heat, and Mickey's palms felt clammy. It didn't stop him from holding on to Emil's hand the entire ride.

"Everyone's home today except nonna, she's out with her _gentleman_. I barely see her these days," Mickey said as they trotted up to the house. "I have to go help my uncle at the shop tomorrow after practice...do you want to come with me or do you want to...do something else? Maybe Sara can take you sightseeing."

"I don't know." Emil fixed the placement of a green branch in the bouquet. He seemed nervous. "Can I decide tomorrow?" 

"Sure. Yeah." Mickey stopped by the door. "Are you ready? My aunt might pinch your cheeks, just warning you."

"Yeah, I guess." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then tugged at his hair. "I don't know why I'm nervous. Sorry."

Mickey considered him. "It's okay." He closed the distance between them and put his hand on Emil's neck. "Take a deep breath. Nobody's going to eat you alive. They'll love you, I promise."

Emil exhaled. "Yeah, okay." He glanced at the door and then at Mickey. "Okay."

"Okay." Mickey didn't move. Emil's neck was hot under his touch. "Can I kiss you?"

" _Yes_."

Mickey did. He kissed Emil until he felt him relax, and then continued kissing him. Emil's free hand found his waist, and Mickey let go of the bag to get both his hands on Emil, so he could kiss him properly, like he'd wanted to at the airport, and for the past several weeks. Emil kissed him back like his life depended on it, or maybe as if he believed Mickey would disappear if he let go.

"I'm not going to go away," Mickey eventually said, pulling away. "Let's go in. The sooner we go in, the sooner we can go to my room."

"Is that...a promise?" Emil asked, cheeks pink and lips red, and eyes lit up with uncertainty. 

"It's something," Mickey answered. He gave him a squeeze, then picked up the bag and reached for the door. "Ready?"

Emil drew in a steely breath. "Yeah."

~*~

No cheeks were pinched, in the end, and Emil and Mickey escaped relatively quickly and scot-free upstairs. The bouquet they left behind on the dinner table, plastic wrap swapped out for a vase.

"I'm sorry my family is like that," Mickey said as he ushered Emil towards his bedroom. "Zia—my aunt," he corrected the lapse to Italian, "can be...you have lipstick on your cheek, you know that?"

"It's okay, I love them," Emil said, following Mickey inside. "I—" he squeaked in surprise, then realised Mickey was just trying to rub the lipstick off with his thumb. "It's okay, really."

Mickey frowned. The lipstick wasn't coming off. He licked his thumb and tried again, but only managed to smudge it. "It's not coming off."

"It doesn't matter." Emil grabbed Mickey's face and kissed him, hot and insistent, and this time Mickey squeaked in surprise. "Sorry, sorry," Emil said against Mickey's lips, "I just really—"

"Shut up." Mickey kissed him back, putting the same insistent desperation into it he'd felt from Emil, somehow ending up pushing him against the wall beside his bedroom door. He had the bizarre thought that it was like a scene in a movie, like this was how it must feel when the people on screen just _need_ each other.

He was brought up short by Emil's dick pressing against him, and then Emil's short breath in between words. "Sorry, just ignore that," Emil said, kissing him again. He moved his hands down to Mickey's hips and pushed away a little, creating a little distance between them. "I'm just—ignore it."

Mickey looked at Emil, his flushed face and widened pupils, and then down, at the outline of his hard dick in his jeans. "I don't want to ignore it," he said. "Do _you_ really want me to?"

Emil bit his lip, his thumbs running nervous circles on Mickey's hips.

"Please tell me what you want," Mickey said. "Be honest."

"I—" Emil's breath hitched. "I want your mouth on me."

"Okay." Mickey reached over to lock the door. Then he put his mouth on Emil's, giving him a series of hot kisses as his fingers undid his belt, and then his fly, and then he had Emil's cock in his hand. "Try to be quiet."

"Yeah," Emil breathed, then covered his mouth with his fist as Mickey got down on his knees.

Mickey lifted Emil's t-shirt up to give his belly a kiss. "Shh," he said, when Emil made a noise. "I'm getting there." Another kiss, this one lower. He was stroking Emil's dick at the same time, slowly, knowing that Emil usually liked it that way.

Precome formed at the tip and Mickey licked it off.

"Jesus, Mickey—"

"Don't pull too hard," Mickey told Emil, and then took his cock into his mouth.

Emil's other hand immediately went to Mickey's head, fingers curling into his hair—slightly too long, Emil might've had a haircut recently, but Mickey hadn't—and held on.

He didn't pull at all. Mickey sucked him down gently at first, then firmer and faster, taking his cues from Emil's breathing pattern: erratic and frantic. When Emil's fingers tightened in his hair, signalling he was close, Mickey tried to relax his throat and take him in deeper, it should work in theory—but it didn't in reality; Mickey gagged and pulled back, ending up sputtering around a mouthful of cum as he tried to swallow it down.

"What are you doing, oh my god, Mickey what the hell," Emil babbled, breathless, trying and failing to pull Mickey to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Mickey coughed for good measure, then got up. Emil swiped his thumb over Mickey's lip, then licked it; evidently Mickey hadn't gotten it all. "I was just trying to see if I could..." Mickey gestured at his throat, then shrugged as if to say it was no big deal.

"I don't want you to choke on me!" Emil gave him a wild look, then pulled him in for a hard kiss. "You could've warned me you were going to do that."

"Sorry. I just thought it might feel nice." Mickey drew in a deep breath, then gave Emil a smile. "Was it? Nice, I mean."

"Yeah, it was. It was really nice," Emil eventually said, letting his head drop onto Mickey's shoulder. "Right up until you were _choking on my dick_."

Mickey couldn't help it, he snickered. A fraction of a second later, so did Emil, and then they were laughing, loud and exhilarating and breathless.

"Welcome to Naples," Mickey said, as Emil tried to compose himself, setting him off again.

"Asshole," Emil told him, but there was no heat in it. He finally did his jeans up.

"Try something a little nicer."

"Babe?"

Mickey made a face. "Not that." He went over to his bed and flopped down. "This is my bedroom, by the way. The grand tour ends here."

"If not babe, then what?" Emil asked and joined Mickey on the bed. He shuffled over on his elbows until he was close enough to lean down and give Mickey a kiss. "Love?"

He pronounced it _luv_ , like the British actor in the TV-series they'd been watching together on Gaze. Mickey laughed.

"That's not horrible," he said. "Why English, though?"

Emil shrugged. "We talk together in English. It's...kind of our language, you know? It'd be kind of weird to have Czech words or Italian words mixed in, I guess?"

"Maybe." Mickey reached up to touch Emil's face. "I haven't really thought about it. Maybe I should learn Czech. If we're going to live together in Prague I should probably learn the language."

"Live together? _In Prague_?" Emil stared. " _Why_?"

"Where else would we live?" Mickey's fingertips grazed the shell of Emil's ear.

"I—" Emil chewed on this. "I guess I just thought you'd want to stay close to your family."

"I'd love to," Mickey admitted. "But there aren't any astrophysics programmes in Naples."

"Jesus, Mickey." Emil let his head drop into his hands.

Mickey waited until Emil was done quietly freaking out, then added: "I thought it made sense, since that's what you want to do, and I'll be ready to move in a few years..."

"You've...thought this through? You're planning this?"

"Yeah. Of course I am." Mickey gently nudged him until Emil followed the hint and gave him a kiss. "I always plan for the future."

Emil let out a breath. "So...when you introduced me, earlier, I _did_ hear you use the word _fidanzato_? About me?"

"Yes?" Mickey frowned. "How do you know that word anyway?"

"Oh my god Mickey, you can't just introduce me as your _fiance_!" Emil rolled over onto his back, covering his face with his hands. It didn't properly hide that his cheeks were flaming red. "That's not—you can't just _do_ that!"

"You're not supposed to know what that word means!" Mickey argued, rolling onto his side and shuffling closer to Emil. If Emil moved away again, he was going to fall off the bed, Mickey thought, somewhat hysterically. He put his hand on Emil's belly. He was breathing a little fast. "How do you know?!"

"I googled it!" Emil dropped his hands. "Like—before we started dating, long before, I googled 'how to seduce Italian men' because you were so frustratingly obtuse, and there was all this stuff like, take him on group dates, be nice to his family, all that stuff, and then there was this bit about how if your Italian boyfriend starts calling you _fidanzata_ or _fidanzato_ instead of _ragazza_ or _ragazzo_ it means the relationship is serious and by the way it means _betrothed_ , and you just told your immediate family that I'm—I'm—" Emil was apparently at a loss for words.

Mickey stared at him. "You... _googled how to seduce Italian men_?" he said, then as realisation dawned: "That's why you kept asking me and Sara out to dinner! You were trying to take us out on a group date? Oh my god, Emil, you could've just said—"

"I was _trying_!" Emil protested. "And don't change the subject! Can we go back to the part where you just—you just straight up told your family we're going to get married—"

"We are, though," Mickey said, heart in his throat. "I mean, I want to. Eventually."

Emil made a very strange noise. "You're serious about this."

"Yeah." Mickey slid his hand up Emil's t-shirt. It felt nicer to touch him like this, more grounding.

"So...is this your proposal, then? Because I don't know if I can give you an answer right now—"

"No! First of all, I wasn't planning to propose for another few years, and second of all, when I _do_ propose to you it will be properly romantic. Like, there will be nice music and roses and things like that, and I'll, you know, actually say the question." Mickey splayed his fingers out a bit. "But not yet."

"Why not yet?" Emil turned his head to look at Mickey. "Why not now? You seem to...know what you want, so..."

"Because you're not ready," Mickey answered. And because you’re young, and you haven’t said I love you back, Mickey thought but didn’t say. "And...well, I'm not ready either. There's a difference between knowing in my heart that I love you and that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and between being ready to make it real."

"Jesus, Mickey," Emil said, breath hitching. He looked away for a bit, then back again, and found Mickey's hand on his stomach. He threaded their fingers together. "In hindsight, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Why not?"

"Google also said that when your Italian boyfriend takes you home to meet his family, it's serious. So when you first texted me that I should come here, I guess that was already the Italian version of the lesbian U-haul," Emil said, smile pulling at his lips. "And at that point we'd been together less than a _week_."

Mickey snorted. "I'm neither confirming nor denying. But you should stop listening to google. You can't google me. I'm nothing like whatever google has told you."

"You are a little bit," Emil said. "But mostly you're you." He paused, drawing in a deep breath and visibly steeling himself. "And I missed you."

"I missed you too." Mickey leaned in for a kiss. "So...can I still refer to you as my _fidanzato_ around my family? It doesn't just mean fiance, you know. It also just means boyfriend."

"Yeah. Yeah you can." Emil pulled him in for another kiss, and then another. "Can I touch you? I really want to touch you."

"You can touch, but not touch-touch," Mickey said, glancing at the clock on his desk. "Not right now. Sara is going to come barging in any minute. Later?"

"I thought you locked the door?"

"Mmh, but Sara knows how to open it." Mickey put Emil's hand under his shirt in tacit consent and kissed him again. Before Emil could really react, however, there was a knock on the door.

"Mickey? Emil?" It was Sara.

"Come in!" Mickey yelled, in Italian.

The doorknob rattled. "The door's locked," she yelled.

"You know how to open it!" Mickey yelled back.

"Do I want to? What are you doing in there?" The doorknob rattled some more, but then the lock twisted left and the door swung open. Sara stood there, clad in beach wear.

"Would I have told you to come in if I didn't want you to?" Mickey said, then switched back to English for Emil's benefit. "I _told_ you."

"How did you know?" Emil sat up. "I thought you were joking when you said you had a twin psychic connection."

Sara grinned. "Do you two want to come with me to the beach?" she asked.

Mickey also sat up. "Yep. You coming?" he added, directed at Emil.

"Seriously how did you know?" Emil said. "Yes, yes I'm coming. But how did you—"

"I told Mickey I'd come get you both if you hadn't come to get me by two-thirty. It is now," Sara looked at her phone, "two thirty-six."

~*~

The beach wasn't particularly crowded with tourists, but that didn't deter Emil and Sara from joining a small group of Germans playing beach volley and taking dips in the sea in between games. Mickey sat on one of two folding chairs they'd brought, watching their things and working on his tan, and occasionally accepting salty kisses from Emil and helping Sara re-applying sunscreen.

Emil bounded over, half covered in sand. "Sara and I kicked ass, did you see that?"

"I saw. You were great." Mickey shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up at Emil. "You playing another round?"

"Nah, I want a dip. I'm hot. Come with me?"

Mickey glanced at the sea. "I better stay here, watch our stuff."

"Nooo, come on, you must be _dying_ , come cool down with me," Emil said, extending his hand to Mickey. "Sara can watch our things. Hey, Sara!" He turned to yell. "Come watch our stuff!"

"It's fine, really," Mickey protested, but Sara was already coming over. "I don't _have_ to…"

Emil looked at the sea and then at Mickey. "There aren't any sharks in that sea, are there?" he asked. 

" _I'm not afraid of the sea!_ " 

"It's the seaweed," Sara said, coming up behind Emil. She plopped into the vacant chair and fetched a water bottle from the cooler. "He's terrified of it."

"Am not!" Mickey said at the same time as Emil said, " _seaweed_?"

Sara shrugged.

"I'm not afraid of seaweed! I just don't like it touching me," Mickey said, shuddering. "As far as I'm concerned, the seaweed and I are perfectly happy apart and never touching. I'm not going in."

"Not even to dip your toes?" Emil was still holding his hand out. "Come on. There's a clear patch over there with no seaweed."

Mickey glanced over. From this vantage point it was impossible to tell where there was seaweed and where there wasn't. "You promise?"

"I promise." Emil's eyes twinkled. 

"Fine." Mickey let Emil pull him up, and then followed him to the waterline. 

The water was mostly clear, and Emil was already splashing into it. Mickey took two steps forwards, just enough to let the water wash over his feet. It wasn't as cool as he'd expected.

Emil came back, dripping with water and grinning happily, reminding Mickey of a dog. "You're not coming in?" He grabbed Mickey's hand and pulled.

Slowly, Mickey let Emil tug him forwards into the water, until it came up to his mid-thigh. "Stop." There was a single strand of a long and yellowish-brown seaweed floating next to Mickey; he took a step aside to get away from it. 

"You do realise those won't hurt you, right?"

"I know. I just don't like them touching me. It's gross." Mickey kept his eyes on the sea, ready to move at a moment's notice if any more seaweed dared come near him. "I hate it. It's a bad feeling."

"What if I distract you?" Emil asked, moving closer.

"Distract me how?"

Emil put his arm around Mickey's shoulder, dripping water on Mickey in the process. "How mad would you be if I tripped you or pushed you over?"

"I would never speak to you again," Mickey said, and meant it. A little bit. 

"Okay." Emil seemed to take this seriously, because he let go of Mickey and went for another full body dip. When he came back up, he splashed water directly at Mickey's front.

Mickey shrieked, then sputtered, then tried to take a quick step back and miscalculated; the water resistance caused him to lose his balance and fall over with a large splash. He was quick to regain his footing and stand back up, trying to wipe water from his face with equally wet hands. "That's not fair!"

"I'm sorry," Emil said, not sounding sorry at all. He closed the distance between them, grabbing both Mickey's hands and threading their fingers together. "Can I persuade you to give me a kiss?"

"After that?" Mickey rolled his eyes, but let Emil swing their hands or whatever the hell he was doing. "There are people around."

"You didn't mind on the beach."

"Nobody was paying attention. This might as well be a stage." Mickey tried to gesture, but Emil was still holding his hands so he only succeeded in pulling him closer.

"Are you sure? You don't think kisses in the water are romantic?" Emil was smiling.

"This isn't a jacuzz—something touched my leg!" Mickey twisted and jerked, trying to see what it was while simultaneously trying to get away from it. The ghostly slimy feeling came back, and this time Mickey shrieked. Not very loudly, mind. "I'm done!"

"Mickey—"

"Nope," Mickey said and let go of Emil, making his way back onto the beach. 

Emil followed. "It's just seaweed."

"Yep," Mickey agreed, pointedly. "And I'm going where seaweed is _not_." He didn't stop until he'd made it onto solid, dry ground. "If you want water kisses you're going to have to wait until the shower."

"I get to shower with you?" Emil slung his arm around Mickey's shoulders. "For real? _Today_?"

"If you want to."

"Do I want to? _Of course_ I want to." Emil followed a drop of water down Mickey's pec with a finger. "You should know it's taking all of my willpower not to ravish you right now."

"Emil!" Mickey flushed. "You can't say things like that!"

"Never?" 

"Just—not—" Mickey couldn't quite look Emil in the eye. "Not here. I don't like it."

"But I can say it later?" Emil asked. "I want to...I mean, you are like, _ridiculously_ hot. I mean, really, really hot. Can't I tell you that sometimes?"

Mickey was sure his cheeks were still flaming. "Is that like...Emil-speak for _I love you_?"

"I guess." Emil shrugged, but his cheeks were red too. 

They'd stopped halfway to the chairs and Sara was looking their way. She appeared to be taking photos of them on her phone. 

"Okay." Mickey slipped out from under Emil's arm and stood in front of him, blocking Sara's view of both of them. "I'm going to kiss you right now."

~*~

"So this is how salami is made?" Emil regarded the rack of just-stuffed salami on the rack. "It just hangs there?"

"Something like that." Mickey fetched an apron from the laundry and put it on, then rolled his sleeves up. "I'll be in the shop, not running errands or stuffing sausages, so if you get bored…"

"I know, but I'd really love to hear you talk about sausages in Italian." Emil turned away from the salamis. "Not that I'll understand any of it. But I'll _know_."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "I'm glad food turns you on."

"Maybe it's _your_ Italian sausage that turns me on." Emil grinned.

"Okay, no, that's just _gross_." Mickey pointed at a door. "That's the office. It has internet. Stay out of trouble."

"No porn, then?"

Mickey didn't know what to say to that. "I honestly can't tell if you're joking or not."

"I'm joking!" 

"Okay." Mickey glanced towards to the shop. The bell kept going, and he could hear his uncle chatting away to customers. "I'll come get you if we get a quiet spell, and show you the shop. You should've gone sightseeing with Sara, waiting around here isn't going to be much fun for you…"

"It's fine. We can see the sights later." Emil shrugged. 

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Go do your thing."

Mickey left Emil in the office and went into the shop. His uncle didn't berate him too much for being late, and Mickey put on his most charming smile for the customers. 

They didn't get a quiet spell until a good two hours later, about ten minutes before closing time. Mickey left his uncle in the shop and ducked out back to find Emil.

He found him reviewing skate videos on his phone. "Hey, sorry it's been so long," Mickey said, "but today's been really busy. Do you want to see the shop? We're closing in a bit."

Emil shot to his feet. "Totally."

"Were you bored?" Mickey asked as he led Emil out and into the shop.

"Nah, I Skyped with my coach for a bit and talked about the videos I sent earlier." Emil followed, looking about. He clearly wanted to touch everything.

"Did he mention the triple loop?"

"Yeah." Emil sighed.

"Told you." Mickey switched topic and introduced his uncle, then let him take a well deserved break before closing up the shop. 

They were unlikely to get any last minute customers, so Mickey directed Emil's attention to the platter of bite sized bits of cured meat and salami for customers to taste.

"These are delicious," Emil said around a bite of spicy salami. "This should go on pizza."

"I don't think that one traditionally goes on pizza," Mickey said, and took a piece for himself. "But all this goes in the trash in about four minutes unless we eat it all, so…"

"I'm definitely eating it." 

There wasn't much left on the plate, but Emil ate all of it. Mickey let him, he knew the goodies already and was happy to let Emil have it. He started the process of closing the shop: turning the sign on the door, locking it, tidying up.

"Do you boys want to go home?" Mickey's uncle had come back. "I'll finish here."

"I'll help you close," Mickey answered.

"Go be with your boyfriend. Treat him to something nice to make up for leaving him in the office to wait for you."

Mickey blushed.

"What are you talking about?" Emil whispered into his ear. 

"Nothing. Let's go." Mickey ushered Emil through the door. He stopped briefly to thank his uncle, and then ditched the apron in the laundry basket. "I'll try to see if I can move my shifts or something while you're here so we can...hang out."

"Okay." Emil followed Mickey quietly, out the back door and through the alley back to the main street. "You don't have to, I understand if you need to work—"

"I don't need it so badly. I want time with you, we have little enough of it as is." Mickey slid his hand into Emil's. "Do you want to go out to dinner with me? We can also eat at home if you'd prefer, I think my dad is cooking tonight. But we can go out, too."

Emil looked down at their linked hands, then gave Mickey a brilliant smile. "Like a sit down in a restaurant thing or street food kind of thing?"

"Both? Which would you like?" Mickey gestured down the street; there were several options for both. 

"Real Italian pizza? Do you do pizza slices?"

"No. But if you want pizza on the go you can get fried pizza or folded pizza—"

"Folded pizza?"

"Yeah, it's like, a whole pizza and then it's folded so you can have it in your hand and then you eat it like that." Mickey nudged Emil with his elbow, indicating a person just ahead of them who was carrying one of those. "We call them wallet pizzas. _Portafoglio_ , it means wallet."

"I _love_ this city," Emil said, reverently.

They got wallet pizzas. 

Mickey took them the long way back to the bus stop so he could show Emil some of the city while they ate. "This is all old stuff, but not _pretty_ stuff, not like in Rome or Florence," he said. "Naples was founded by Greeks in the ninth century B.C. and was key in the transmission of Greek culture to Roman society, it was like the biggest centre of important things back then. Very cool. But they didn't know shit about city planning, so now we have all this ugly old stuff."

"This is all Greek?"

"And Roman. And in the sixth century it was conquered by the Byzantine Empire, so we got that sort of stuff too, and after that history got really messy and we had all kinds of dynasties and they did stuff too. The garbage, though, that you can blame on organised crime."

Emil frowned thoughtfully. He'd already eaten half of his pizza. "This is why you study architecture?"

"My focus is on urban planning," Mickey pointed out. "Because cities should be made better than _this_. There's no structure to this nonsense. Nobody was planning _ahead_." He made a derisive noise. "The tourists think it's charming, but they don't have to _live_ here."

"Mmh." Emil's eyes were glittering, and though his mouth was full of pizza Mickey was certain he was _grinning_.

"Are you laughing at me?" He glared. "Because if you are, I will leave you here to find your own way back home."

Emil shook his head, swallowing down in a hurry. "I'm not laughing at you, but—"

"Nope, 'but' is not a good word—"

" _But_ , I think you're cute and that _is_ kind of funny, because you're just being you, and I like you being you," Emil finished. 

"What?" Mickey paused just before taking a bite out of his pizza. "What does that even mean?"

"It just means I think you're cute."

"I'm not _cute_ ," Mickey grumbled. "I have _opinions_." He took a large bite out of his pizza. 

Emil chowed his own pizza down happily, shrugging at this. "Have you ever made a skate about architecture or something like that? Or Naples?"

"How would I skate about _architecture_?" Mickey frowned. "Like, this pivot here represents a park and this spin is a fountain and the step sequence is a leisurely stroll along the promenade?"

"Something like that."

"I only skate about my _feelings._ " 

"You have _feelings_ about this city," Emil said, flashing Mickey a grin. "I dare you to do it. You haven't finalised your short programme yet. Make it about Naples." He finished his pizza and threw the wrapper in a nearby bin.

Mickey just shook his head and continued eating.

"What about your _love feelings_?" Emil slung an arm around Mickey's shoulders. "Last year you did Sara. This year you should do me."

"Oh my _god_ , Emil, can you not say it like _that_?" Mickey shuddered. "That's just..."

"A terrible choice of words and I apologise," Emil said, also shuddering. "Seriously though, I'd love to see you put together a structured skate representing your love for proper urban planning."

"That's not very poetic," Mickey protested, but he couldn't help being intrigued by the idea. It was unconventional, sure, but since he and Sara first competed together in the novice bracket for Italian pair skaters, he'd been faithfully pouring his heart into his skating. The fact that their first theme had been about Mickey and Minnie Mouse was just testament to the fact that eight year olds have no taste.

"Everything is poetry if you make it be," Emil argued. "And you're the kind of person who says things like _I know in my heart that I love you_ , which sounds pretty much like poetry to me, so, you know."

Mickey finished his pizza and balled up the wrapper. "That's not poetry, that's just truth." He took Emil's arm off his shoulders to hold his hand instead, leaning in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

"And truth can't be poetry?" Emil asked, reeling him in for another kiss, this one on the mouth.

"I'm not making my short skate about urban planning," Mickey said. "It won't work. And it doesn't fit with the rest of my theme."

"And your theme is what, exactly?" Emil was too gleeful for his own good, which was to say, he had a point and he knew it and Mickey didn't want to admit it.

"The future," Mickey answered, resolutely not feeling in any way embarrassed. "Don't give me that look."

"I would ask if you have a colour coded binder with your plans for the future, but, one: I don't want to give you ideas and two: that would make me the Jake Peralta of this relationship, and I'm not sure I can deal with that knowledge."

"I'm not Amy!"

"Do you have a colour coded binder?"

Mickey pursed his lips. "I have a spreadsheet on my computer," he admitted.

"How am I in love with you?" Emil stopped, which forced Mickey to stop.

"Is that a quote from the show or is that you?"

"It's both," Emil said, pulling Mickey in for a kiss. "But mostly me. I think the quote goes another way."

"Speaking of poetry, I'm pretty sure referencing pop culture in confessions of love is some kind of modern poetry," Mickey said. His ears felt hot. "So..."

"You're not going to win this discussion," Emil said and started walking again. His cheeks were pink. "Which way are we going?"

Mickey discarded his pizza wrapper and led Emil round towards the bus stop. They had to dodge two large groups of Asian tourists, stop for a selfie, and pass through a group of German pensioners, but they got there in the end, all limbs and personal effects intact.

"There's just no way I can accurately convey _leisurely stroll along the promenade_ through a step sequence," Mickey said, once they were on the bus.

Emil laughed. "You're thinking about it!"

"You put the idea in my head!"

"Okay, so I'll take the blame. Give me some credit once you skate the thing and win all the medals for it?"

Mickey shook his head. "I'd be better off skating about pizza."

"Also a valid option," Emil agreed. "What's your free skate about?"

"That's a secret."

"How is it a secret?"

"It just is," Mickey said. "It's not done yet, and -"

"Is it a proposal?" Emil interrupted.

"No!"

"Why else would it be secret? You said your theme is about the future!"

"It's about _you_! It's a surprise, so it's a secret, but it's not a proposal, oh my god, Emil it's just a free skate, it's not..." Mickey gestured, "some grand _public choreographed proposal_. That'd mean I'd be proposing at every single competition, and I'm not actually _Yuri Katsuki_ , so that's not going to happen."

Emil was quiet. Then: "So you _are_ doing me this season!"

" _Oh my god_!" Mickey dropped his head into his hands. " _Shut up_!"

"But just for the record, a proposal in the form of a skate doesn't sound that terrible to me," Emil said, thoughtful. "It was all very romantic when Yuri Katsuki did it."

"I'm not proposing to you until after I've quit skating," Mickey said. "It's in my spreadsheet."

"Ow, dreams crushed." Emil sighed dramatically.

"You're the one who said _yesterday_ that it's too soon for an engagement!"

"Yes, yes, but I'm just _saying_ ," Emil said. "It would be very cool. What were you planning, anyway?"

"I was going to rent out an entire restaurant, hire a live band, put something like ten thousand red roses in the restaurant, and...well, we'd have dinner, and dessert, and then...at some point, I'd propose." He thought for a bit. "I haven't decided yet if it's going to be a summer or winter thing, but if it's summer then it's a restaurant by the sea and we'll go for a walk by the water after, and if it's winter, it'll be near an outdoors rink and I'll of course have rented that too, and we'll go there after."

Emil stared at him. "And that's all in the spreadsheet?"

"No, I haven't actually planned that much detail," Mickey said, flashing him a grin. "I don't know how it's going to be." He shrugged. "I'll figure it out later. The important thing is really that you're there, not whether there's ten thousand red roses or a live band."

"Okay, but like...would you have a ring, or two rings, or would we like...go look at rings together, or..."

Mickey considered him. "Do you want to plan the proposal _now_?"

"No! I was just..." Emil flushed. "I was just thinking. About stuff."

"Okay."

"And...you know, I was just thinking because, we haven't really... _talked_ , you know, not about everything. So I was just..."

"Nervously skipping ahead?" Mickey squeezed his hand. "You do that a lot."

"Yeah, I guess."

"We should talk," Mickey agreed. "But I don't think we have to talk about everything all at once. We have time, yeah? To just...let things happen."

"Yeah." Emil turned their hands over. "I've been dying to ask you about one thing though..." He glanced around the bus, which wasn't exactly stuffed full of people, but there was no privacy to be had. "Is now okay? I'll type it."

"You don't want to wait until we're home?"

"I'll have lost my nerve by then and then it'll be awkward and then I'll just be dying inside, so..." Emil fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the notes app. He started typing away.

Mickey checked his watch. They wouldn't be at their stop for another half hour.

"There." Emil showed him the screen. It said: _It's about what you said in the email about sex being occasionally nice_

"Okay," Mickey said. "What about it?"

Emil added another line of text. _Did you mean that sometimes sex is nice or did you mean that sex is sometimes nice and sometimes not?_

"Uh..." Mickey frowned, trying to parse the meaning of the question. He took the phone and typed a reply. _I meant that sometimes it's nice to have sex? It is nice sometimes but also sometimes I don't care so it doesn't matter then. But it's nice when it happens._

_oh GOOD because I was worried you meant that sometimes sex isn't nice and then I was worried about us because you've only ever had sex with me and if it sometimes wasn't nice then........_

Mickey looked up at Emil. "It's always been nice with you so far," he said. "We haven't had a lot of opportunity to have it? But so far it's been nice."

"Yeah, okay." Emil let out a breath of relief. "Nice is a funny word though. Is it _just_ nice?"

"Yeah? I don't know what else to say about it. It's nice. I like it." Mickey shrugged. "It's fun."

"It's not…mindblowing? Or...exciting?"

"I...no." Mickey thought about this. "Not really? I don't think so. What's mindblowing supposed to feel like?" 

Emil turned his phone over in his hands. "It's like...a full body thing? Maybe not literally mindblowing, but for me it feels like...an intense feeling in my entire body? You don't feel that?"

"No." Mickey shook his head.

" _Never_?"

Mickey shrugged. "No."

Emil quieted at that, but he kept turning his phone over in his hands. Mickey wanted to still his hands, but mostly he just wanted Emil to look at him. 

"Tell me more about it?" Mickey asked.

"It's a lot of feelings at once," Emil eventually said. "I don't know how to describe it? It's…it's a chest feeling and a gut feeling, and excitement, and it's all mixed in with the physical sensations, and...it's everything at once." 

"Oh...so…" Mickey cleared his throat. "It's like that every time? All this…" he gestured. "Like everything is on fire?"

"Pretty much. No, I mean, it's not as intense and mindblowing every time, it varies, but it's usually like this when I'm with someone I...like." 

Mickey felt like there were some important puzzle pieces dropping into his lap, and if he could only see where exactly they fit, maybe he could _understand_ …

"Yesterday it was like that, both times," Emil continued. "Not in the same way, the first time it was also kind of nerve-wracking because I hadn't seen you in so long, and we had fought, and I wasn't sure of anything, so it was kind of...like a pressure release? But the second time, after we got back from the beach, that was…" he trailed off, casting about for words. His cheeks were a dark pink, but he continued. "That was one of those times where everything just felt perfect and good, and all the good feelings came together, and it was just... _good_."

Yesterday had been good. Mickey could vividly recall Emil's flushed and happy face, and how much he'd smiled, and how handsy he'd been—it'd probably been one of their best times together, so far. Mickey had enjoyed it too.

He also thought maybe those puzzle pieces were falling into place. "This is why you said it was like I didn't really love you, when we fought." Mickey's heart was thumping, but he had to say it, had to get to the bottom of this.

Emil looked down. He didn't confirm, but he also didn't deny, and his lip was wobbling.

"Emil, hey," Mickey said. "Sweetheart. Emil. I _do_ love you."

"I know, you keep telling me," Emil answered, voice rough. He looked up, but didn't keep eye contact for long. "It's just.."

"No, it makes sense." Mickey's throat felt like it was closing together. "I'm sorry—I don't...I...wait, I'll type it." Emil handed him his phone wordlessly and Mickey pulled up the notes app again, and started typing. _Am I right in understanding that for you love & sex are the same thing?_

"Yeah, I guess," Emil said, looking at the screen.

 _Okay, for me sex is just a thing, like it's fun to do, but it's not how I love? It's got nothing to do with it. So I guess it felt like I was rejecting you whenever I didn't want to or was dismissive about the whole thing._ Mickey waited until Emil had read the paragraph and nodded, then continued typing. _I can't control what my body does. I don't know if I'll ever feel like you do about sex. Those feelings you described, like excitement and love and all kind of coming together? I get that, just from talking to you or looking at you. The physical stuff...it doesn't factor into it? But I guess love is physical anyway because I can feel it in my chest and my belly and my brain when all I can think about is you_

Emil took the phone back. _So why do you have sex with me at all if it doesn't matter to you?_

"Because I love you," Mickey said, even as he was typing out a reply. _I like touching you and being close to you and I like getting you off. It's interesting. Finding out the things you like and how much you like it and just being together._ Out loud, he added: "It does matter to me. I think it just matters in a different way from how it matters to you."

"Yeah, okay." Emil's voice was still rough, but he wasn't crying. 

Mickey gave him his phone back, and then held out his hand in invitation. Emil took it, squeezing, and exhaling.

"I'm having those feelings now, by the way," Mickey said, and gestured with his free hand at his chest. "There's a lot of love in there making it feel like I'm going to explode." 

Emil let out a wet chuckle. "Me too."

"Yeah." Mickey leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Yesterday _was_ really good. It wasn't just you."

"Yeah?" Emil looked up in surprise. "I wasn't sure. It's sometimes hard to tell when you're...into it."

"I was." Mickey frowned. "Maybe I should've said that more clearly yesterday?" 

Emil shrugged, then nodded. 

"Yeah okay. When we get off this bus, we are going to my room and we are going to work on our communication skills."

"Okay." A smile spread on Emil's lips.

Mickey brought their hands up to kiss the back of Emil's hand, which made the smile spread wider still, and then they sat together in silence.

"One thing though," Emil said, breaking the silence just a few stops out from their destination. " _Sweetheart_? Really?"

"It just slipped out!" Mickey said, flushing hot. "I didn't know what else to say!"

Emil laughed. "I can live with it," he said, tugging Mickey closer. "Kiss me?"

"Here?" Mickey glanced at Emil's mouth. It was okay on the streets of Naples, but in a semi-crowded bus…

"Don't overthink it, _sweetheart_."

Mickey groaned. "Okay, fine, come here, but don't you _dare_ make us miss our stop." 


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey's bruised hip had almost healed from that bad fall the other week, but certain stretches still felt sore. He wasn't concerned about it; it didn't restrict his movements or affected his skating, he was just feeling it a bit more right now because he was lying on that side while stretching.

Emil moved into a gluteal stretch, and Mickey switched to working on his hamstrings. Mickey had finally managed to land the quad Lutz cleanly, so now he just had to land it in competition. Become part of the quad race. And finalise the short programme, which was still something of a mess.

He watched Emil go through his stretches. He'd been here for a week already, which meant they only had a week left together. One week was an awfully short amount of time...especially when they didn't know for sure if they'd have the chance to see each other again before Skate Canada, or after. They'd both be at Skate Canada in October, but Mickey had been assigned to Trophée Éric Bompard and Emil to the Rostelecom Cup.

It might three years or more before Mickey could move to Prague.

"Have you ever tried anal sex?" Mickey asked. They were the only ones in the locker room.

"What?" Emil startled so much he almost fell over.

"Anal sex," Mickey repeated. "Have you tried it?" He finished stretching and got up, and started peeling his sweaty work out clothes off. 

"No," Emil answered. He was sitting on the floor, staring at Mickey. "Why? Did you want to...now? _Here_?"

Mickey paused before he pulled his trousers down. "Obviously we're not having any kind of sex _now_ , we're meeting Sara for coffee and pastries. I was just asking in general."

"Oh...well, I haven't."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Emil shrugged. He too got up and started undressing. "I talked about it with one of my exes but we never did it."

"So...you don't know what it feels like?" 

"No?" Emil turned to look at him. "Do _you_ want to know what it feels like?"

"Yeah," Mickey admitted. He picked up his towel and toiletries bag. "Doesn't have to be anytime _soon_ , but if we could try it out _sometime_ …"

"Yeah, sure. We can try it."

"Okay." Mickey headed into the showers. 

Emil joined him soon after. "Which way were you thinking of trying it?"

"Either way. Both? I didn't think that far. What do _you_ think?" Mickey worked shampoo into his hair. He still hadn't gotten that haircut—and he'd have to get one before tomorrow evening, or he'd have to go to his aunt's anniversary party looking like a hobo.

"I don't know. Let me think about it and get back to you, yeah?" 

"Yeah, okay."

They finished showering and getting dressed. 

Mickey stared at himself in the mirror; no amount of hair gel could possibly get his hair under control at this stage. He could try, but given how much of the stuff he'd scrubbed out in the showers earlier, he plain didn't want to. He picked up his shaving gel instead. 

"Actually," Emil called out. "Do you mind not doing that?"

"What, shaving?" Mickey glanced at his razor, and then at himself. He gestured. "But…"

"I like the scruff," Emil said and came over. He gave Mickey a kiss on the cheek. "It's sexy."

"But we're going out," Mickey protested. "We're meeting Sara."

"Does that matter? She's seen you scruffy before." Emil flashed him a grin. "Do it for me?"

Mickey put the canister down. "Fine. But it comes off tomorrow! I'm not going to the party like _this_."

"Yes, yes, fine." Emil shrugged. "You can be as tidy as you like tomorrow." 

"Why can't I be tidy today?" Mickey grumbled, rubbing his jaw. It was so _scratchy_. He looked like a delinquent. Especially with his hair damp and unruly like that. "I need a haircut."

"Will it make a difference if I tell you that I like your hair like this?" Emil asked, maneuvering him around so he could kiss him properly on the mouth. "It's soft. It's a good look on you."

"The last time my hair was like this I was...six, probably."

"What about that time in juniors—"

"How do you even know about that? It was a _phase_ and it lasted exactly three months, and—"

"There's a photo in the living room," Emil said, grinning. "Right next to twenty other competition photos. It's a _beautiful_ photo."

"I was fifteen," Mickey said. "I made terrible fashion choices when I was fifteen!"

"Yes, well, you _have_ let your hair get to this state, so I don't see how you get to complain," Emil pointed out, and put his hand in Mickey's hair as if to make a point. He tugged gently. " _I_ have no complaints."

There was no helping the violent blush on Mickey's cheeks. "It's a coincidence," he said. "It's got nothing to do with blowjobs. I just haven't had the time…"

"Okay," Emil said, but he was smiling like he knew something Mickey didn't. "I'm just saying. I like this look on you. I wouldn't mind if you kept it."

Instead of protesting, or saying anything at all, Mickey tried a different tactic to get Emil off the topic: he poked Emil's right dimple.

"What are you doing?"

"Just checking," Mickey replied.

"Checking what?" Emil had frozen up. He wasn't moving at all except for to speak, which made the dimple move under Mickey's touch.

"Just checking that my finger fits," Mickey said, grinning. "It does." He stopped poking and instead cupped Emil's face and kissed him.

" _Why_?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just wanted to. I've been wanting to for _ages._ " Mickey released him. "Come on. We don't want to be late."

"I thought Italians were all about being late," Emil muttered, rubbing his cheek. 

"Have you met Sara?"

"Point taken." 

"I told you, you can't google us."

"That was _one_ time!" Emil threw his towel at Mickey, who just ducked out of the way, laughing.

~*~

"No, I'm not sitting in the middle! Why do you have to ride with us, why can't you—"

"I'm not sharing the backseat with _nonna's boyfriend_!" Sara argued. "You don't have to sit in the middle, I'm the smallest person so _I'll_ sit in the middle—"

"But I want to sit next to Emil and clearly _he_ can't sit in the middle, he's too tall to fit comfortably!" Mickey yelled. "This is a stupid arrangement anyway! Just ride with zia!"

"But I don't want to!" Sara yelled back.

"Uhm, Mickey?" Emil poked his head into the hallway. "Was that my name I heard?"

Mickey ignored him in favour of yelling at his sister some more. "Just suck it up! It's forty minutes! He can't be that terrible!"

"Why don't _you_ suck it up! You can live with not being plastered to Emil for forty shitty minutes!"

"Uh, guys?" Emil tried again. He was now leaning against the doorframe. "I don't actually understand a word you're saying, but I'm pretty sure that was my name…"

Sara whirled on Emil. "Do you mind if I ride with you to the party?" she asked, in English.

Emil looked between Mickey and Sara, completely bewildered. "Uh, I don't think so?"

"See!" Sara cried, poking Mickey in the chest.

He winced. "We'll be you, me and her squeezed together on the backseat of my dad's car," he told Emil. "Which is _stupid_ and _ridiculous_ , when zia has a free space in _her_ car!" This last part he directed at Sara.

"This is a problem...why?" Emil looked faintly scared. 

"Because I don't want to sit in the middle!" Mickey said.

"Because he doesn't want me to sit in the middle!" Sara said, at the same time.

Mickey glared at Sara, who had crossed her arms and was glaring defiantly back.

"O-kay," Emil said, retreating back into Mickey's bedroom. "I'll just...leave you two to sort that out."

"I'm _not_ sitting in the middle," Mickey said to Sara, switching back to Italian. Sara just shrugged. "I'm not!"

"I said _I'd_ sit in the middle," she pointed out. 

" _Ugh_!" Mickey turned and stomped away. He made it as far as to the bottom of the stairs, then he turned around and stomped back upstairs.

"What is it gonna be?" Emil asked when Mickey stomped inside.

" _Ugh_!" Mickey said. Again.

"Unresolved, I take it." Emil was standing in front of the mirror on Mickey's closet door, adjusting his shirt. 

Mickey sat in his desk chair, swivelling it around so he could see what Emil was doing. 

He was fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

"Your collar is fine," Mickey said. It was more than fine.

He'd seen Emil dressed up before. On ice, in costume, and off ice, in a suit. He _knew_ Emil cleaned up well...but he'd never seen him like this before: in nice black slacks and a white cotton shirt tucked into the trousers. The shirt had some kind of subtle pin-stripe thing going on that added a shimmer to the fabric, and Emil had rolled the sleeves up and left the top button undone. He had also managed to acquire something of a tan this summer, so rather than the white of the shirt washing him out, it amplified the glow of his skin. He'd also taken care to trim his beard, so everything was sharp and on point.

In short: he was _gorgeous_.

"Mickey?"

"Yeah?" Mickey met his eyes.

"Is this not good enough? You said to bring something classy, and this was the only thing I could think of—"

"It's good enough. It's _definitely_ good enough." Mickey let his eyes rake over him again. The fit was perfect, as if Emil had had this outfit tailored. Mickey couldn't have dressed him better himself.

"Yeah? You're giving me funny looks."

"Because you look good." Mickey smiled. "Gorgeous. Very handsome."

Emil turned towards the mirror, cheeks pink. "Thank you."

"I mean it." Mickey joined him by the mirror. "I could just keep looking at you."

"You could also just kiss me," Emil suggested. His cheeks now a darker pink.

Mickey kissed him, warm and lingering until they were both a little breathless. "Like that?" 

"Exactly lik—"

"WE'RE LEAVING!" Sara yelled, in Italian. It reverberated in the hall. Somebody else—their mother, from the sound of it—was yelling something else, from outside. 

"We're leaving," Mickey translated.

"I got that." Emil smiled and pulled Mickey into another long kiss.

Sara yelled again.

"Let's go."

~*~

Mickey ended up losing the fight with Sara, who sat in the middle between Mickey and Emil the entire forty-minute ride to the vineyard. As car rides with Sara went, it wasn't terrible; they spent the entire ride pointing things out to Emil and relaying the family gossip to him in preparation for the party.

The party itself was lovely and Mickey was pleased that everyone liked Emil. He didn't think they wouldn't; he loved him, after all, so of course his family would...and Emil was a natural at making friends. Emil charmed everyone, even Mickey's fussy curmudgeonly grandfather on his mother side. His cousins adopted him instantly as well.

Mickey wasn't just pleased, he was having ridiculous happy feelings in his belly just from watching Emil joke with a group of small cousins and twirling them around to the music.

"That is the face of a man in love." Mickey's father took the empty chair next to Mickey and reached for the bottle of wine.

"Of course. I _am_ in love." Mickey kept his eyes on Emil. "No need to state the obvious."

His father chuckled and poured himself a generous glass of wine. He didn't offer Mickey one; he was designated driver. "Aren't you going to ask him to dance?"

Mickey smiled. "Yeah. In a bit."

The impromptu dance floor was half-full: Sara had deigned to dance with their cousin Lorenzo (the asshole cousin Lorenzo who had no job, not the other Lorenzo, the nice cousin who lived in Milan), Emil was still entertaining the kids, and a handful of aunts and uncles were spinning each other about.

"Maybe I'll rescue Sara first," Mickey said, and stood up.

He was intercepted on the way by a cousin, and Mickey politely danced with her until the song finished. When it did, Sara had ditched one Lorenzo for another and Emil was showing the kids how to do the proper kick off for a toe loop.

"It works better on skates," Mickey told the kids, then switched to English for Emil. "Do you want to dance?" He held out his hand in invitation.

"I'd love to dance." Emil took his hand, then gave the kids an apologetic look. "Sorry kids."

"Skating?" Mickey asked as they moved onto the dance floor. An energetic song was playing and it felt nice to loosen up a little; he hadn't gone to dance practice all week since he'd been trying to maximise his Emil-time.

Emil fell into easy step with him, matching his moves. "I thought they were saying something about skating? Pattinaggisomething or other? So..." He grinned. "I thought maybe they wanted a demonstration."

Mickey shook his head and let Emil spin him, then reversed their roles. No more conversation after that, the song's tempo changed and they followed it, ending on a slightly breathless note. Mickey felt electric. They'd danced before, on the few occasions Emil had managed to drag him to clubs, but not since they'd gotten together. They hadn't gone clubbing in Prague even once, even if Emil's friends had invited them...maybe they should go out once, in Naples. Before Emil went home.

Or maybe Mickey should stop making plans for once and just dance with Emil here and now. The DJ was putting on all the summer hits and with more people joining them on the dance floor and laughing, he couldn't ask for a better ambience.

"What is it?" Emil asked.

"Nothing," Mickey replied. "I'm just having fun."

The song changed to a hit that had been popular when Mickey was little, and Mickey grinned. "Watch this. These moves are _classic_."

He was reasonably certain that Emil would know the song, it'd apparently been an international hit. Mickey's family on both sides loved it and it was always a staple at their parties, along with the macarena. Mickey's cousins joined in the dance, as did the kids and some of the adults. It was a ridiculous song and the dance moves even worse, but it was a fun and kid friendly thing.

"What...is this some kind of Italian macarena?"

"It's Spanish! Don't you know it?" Mickey gestured for Emil to join in. "It's easy! Just follow me!"

Emil got the hang of it just in time for the song to finish. "Oh _no_ ," he complained.

"You did well," Mickey said and kissed him. "You'll be an expert in no time. Want something to drink?"

The music had stopped. Emil nodded, wiping sweat off his brow, but before he could follow Mickey off the dance floor, a new song started.

This one was decidedly slow and mellow.

"Mickey," Emil said. "That drink can wait?" He was still standing on the dance floor, just to the left of the middle, and...waiting. He was tugging at his hair, that thing he did when he was nervous.

"Yeah," Mickey answered, heart in his throat. He walked right back to Emil, and then because he didn't know what to actually do, put his hands on Emil's hips. "This good?"

"Yeah." Emil put his hands on Mickey, seemingly also a bit insecure about what he was doing.

They shuffled awkwardly. "Are we doing this right?" Mickey said. "I've never slow danced before."

Emil let out a giggle, dropping his head to Mickey's shoulder. "I don't know," he said. "I have no idea what I'm doing. Last time I slow danced it was in sixth grade on a dare. It was awful."

"Oh." Mickey tried to suppress a giggle. "Okay." He moved further into Emil's space. "It always looks so easy in the movies. You know. The girl has her arms around the boy, like this," Mickey moved his arms around Emil's neck, "and the boy has his arms around her, like this." He nudged Emil to move his arms, so they'd be on his hips instead.

"So...we are now emulating high school dances from American movies?"

"If it works, it works," Mickey said. 

Emil smiled, his dimples coming out in full force. "This is nice."

"We're _shuffling_."

"Shh. Doesn't matter. This is a socially acceptable way for me to touch you in public and I...well, I just really wanted to." Emil put his nose in Mickey's hair. "I hoped you wouldn't mind." 

"I don't mind. And we're not in public. This is my family." Mickey felt Emil's lips on his ear, then his neck. "You can kiss me if you want."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Emil kissed him.

~*~

The door to Sara's and nonna's room was open, but Mickey knocked anyway. "Hey, Sara?"

"Yeah?" Sara looked up from the book she was reading.

"Can I talk to you about something for a few minutes?" He hovered in the doorway, waiting for Sara's accept.

"Yeah, sure? Where's Emil?" Sara closed her book, bookmark in place. "Why not talk to him?"

"He's in the shower. It's about him, anyway."

"Okay…" She gave him a questioning look. "What is it about him?"

Mickey hesitated, but then walked in and sat next to Sara on the bed. "It's...your...Mila, she's Emil's age, right?"

"Yes?"

Mickey pulled his knees up. "Has that ever been an issue? I mean, the four year age gap…"

"Is that an issue for you?" Sara asked, instead of answering the question. 

"Emil's parents are concerned." Mickey tried to shrug, as if it didn't matter, but it _did_. That was the whole problem. "And he's said...well, I was just wondering how you were handling it."

"Mickey, we aren't sixty years old creepy predators," Sara said. "It's not that big of an age difference."

"No, I know, but I can't help but think that maybe some of my expectations are...too much? I have all these plans and ideas and hopes for what I want our life together to be like, and he's...only just finished high school, you know? Next month he'll go to university, but I'm almost finished, I'm planning my thesis. We are at different stages in life? And...I don't know, I guess I understand why his parents are worried…" 

"You've met them, right?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"They were nice. Old? They're _grandparents_. All of Emil's siblings are like thirty-five and have kids."

"Have you talked to Emil about this?"

"I wanted to talk to you first."

Sara smiled. "You should probably talk to him."

"I know. I will." Mickey sighed in frustration. "I just...don't want to say the wrong thing. And I don't want him to decide that, I don't know, that I'm too old for him? I'll understand if he'd rather be with someone on his own level, but…"

"He's with _you_ , though." 

"Yeah." 

They sat together in silence, Mickey picking at his socks and Sara watching him. 

"Mila and I have a deal," Sara eventually said. "If there's something either of us is having a problem with, we talk about it. We don't let things fester."

There were so many things Mickey still needed to talk about with Emil. And with the rate they were going, they wouldn't finish talking about _the current issues_ , such as it were, for another few months.

"We do talk."

"Why is the age thing so important all of a sudden? You've been together like five months. If it wasn't an issue then, why now?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's not. Maybe it's just all the other stuff that's…compounding the issue."

"Honestly, Mickey, all I can tell you is: talk to him. Make sure you're on the same page, and if you're not...work on getting there." She gave him a wry smile. "Maybe also don't ask for his hand in marriage just yet?"

"I wasn't going to!" Mickey protested. "Not _yet_ , anyway. That's still _years_ out. How many times do I have to say that?"

A door down the hall opened and closed.

"Your beau is out of the shower," Sara said. "Go talk to him. Or whatever."

"We're going to the archaeological museum," Mickey said. "There's stuff there from Pompeii and Herculaneum and Emil wanted to see it."

"Have fun." Sara nudged him. "Don't forget the ancient dick collection."

"What?"

"At the museum. You'll find it."

"What—" 

"Just _go_ ," Sara said, pushing him. 

~*~

Emil was waiting. Mickey knew this, so he should really stop dawdling in the bathroom and join him, so they could get on with the programme; Emil had agreed to try out anal sex with him, and they'd decided to do it before he went home.

They had three days left, or two and a half depending on how the days were counted, and this was it. It was exciting, in that this was the first new thing they were going to try out—most everything else they'd already been through when they were still on that skiing vacation in France, and back then _everything_ had been new. 

For Mickey, anyway. This was new to _both_ of them.

He wrapped his towel around his waist and went to join Emil, who'd hopefully not fallen asleep while waiting. It wasn't that late, but they'd had a tough day at the rink and they did have to get up early for skate practice again, so…

Emil was awake. He'd showered earlier and was apparently lounging about on Mickey's bed, doing something on his phone, while waiting.

Mickey dropped the towel and crawled into bed. His hair was still dripping a little, but it would dry soon enough—the important thing was he'd made sure he was as thoroughly clean as he could get. 

"It's now, then?" Emil asked. 

"Yeah." Mickey settled comfortably on his stomach. Best get right to it.

The lube and condoms were sitting on the bedside table. Emil grabbed both, then moved behind Mickey.

And then nothing happened.

"Emil?" 

"Give me a minute."

Mickey twisted to look. Emil was turning the tube of lube over in his hands, staring at Mickey's naked arse. He was _pale_. "Are you okay?"

"I'm…" Emil faltered. "Just nervous, I guess."

"Oh. Uhm." Mickey paused, considering. "Come lie with me." He moved, making space for Emil.

Emil moved forwards until he was lying on his side facing Mickey. He was still clutching the tube of lube.

"Hey."

"Hey." Emil exhaled. "Sorry. I'm being weird."

"I don't think you're weird." Mickey put a hand on Emil's hip, squeezing. Emil had put boxers on after his shower, but was otherwise naked. "We don't have to, if you don't want to. We can do it later. Or not at all."

"I think I want to. I don't know why I'm so nervous about it. I thought I'd be nervous if...I...well...but it's not." He dropped the tube and covered his face. "This is embarrassing." 

Mickey leaned forwards, kissing Emil's hand roughly where his mouth was. "I don't think it is. Look, we can just drop the idea for now? Let's do something else."

"You don't mind?" Emil pulled his hands down to look at Mickey. "I thought you wanted this."

"Yeah, well, I'm curious about it. But it can wait." Mickey shrugged. "If you want, we can get dressed and watch a movie, or make out, or…something else."

"Naked make outs?"

"Sure." Mickey smiled. "And you know, I'm a broken record at this point, but we really don't have to even get off...I'm okay with just touching." To demonstrate, Mickey moved his hand off Emil's hip, instead running it up his chest.

Emil moved in for a kiss. "What if...I mean, we could still make love, but..."

"Make love?" Mickey had his hand around Emil's neck now, so he felt the flush when it came. He was also quick to shush Emil when he tried to hide his embarrassment. "No, don't—it makes sense. You can call it that."

"I didn't mean to say that," Emil mumbled, still red as a tomato.

"I love you," Mickey said, unable to keep himself from smiling. "And I love that you just said make love. I'd love to make love with you."

"Please stop." Emil was looking everywhere but at Mickey. "I can't believe I just said that."

"I can." Mickey leaned in to kiss his nose, and his mouth, and he'd have kissed his eyelids as well if Emil hadn't covered his face. "I think it's romantic."

"There's nothing romantic about sucking dick!" Emil squeaked. 

"I could have an entire philosophical discussion about this, but I'm more interested in making love," Mickey said. "Or whatever you want to do. Sucking dick is on the table. As is _not_ sucking dick."

"Jesus," Emil muttered. "If I had known dating you would be like this..."

"Then you wouldn't have?"

Emil looked at him. "I would still have dated you, but maybe I'd have waited another year. Or ten. Maybe then I'd have been prepared."

That stung.

"Am I really that difficult?" Mickey asked, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "Would you rather be with someone...less me?"

"No! That's not what I meant—I'm sorry, that's not...I meant that I'm not used to being with someone who just...says what they think and feel, like you do. You just _say_ things, and it feels a little like I'm standing under a waterfall except the water is your feelings." Emil stroked his thumb alongside Mickey's bottom lip. "And the water just keeps coming."

"Sounds like you think I'm too much," Mickey said. Emil's thumb stopped.

"Sometimes it's overwhelming," he admitted. "Sometimes it's like I can't hold all that water. But I don't want it to stop." Emil was watching Mickey's mouth intently, his thumb still stroking over his bottom lip ever so gently. "I'm sorry."

Mickey caught Emil's hand and pulled it away from his face, leaning in to kiss him instead. "Okay."

Emil kissed back as if he was trying to drink Mickey in. Mickey let him. He let Emil push him over, and scramble on top of him, still kissing him. He let Emil grind against him—it wasn't long before they were both hard. Emil let a little moan into Mickey's mouth, then sat up.

He had a lovely blush down his chest. "Did you still want to try..." He looked around, then located the tube of lube amidst the sheets. "This?"

"You can say anal sex. I know you have said those words before." Mickey was only half joking; he still felt a sliver of hurt lingering in his chest. 

"Okay." Emil closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "Do you want to try out anal sex, with me, right now?"

"Yes." Mickey roped Emil into a kiss, then another, and then they were shuffling about awkwardly until Mickey was again settled on his stomach with his legs spread. 

This time, Mickey heard Emil uncap the lube. This time, he felt Emil's slick fingers touch him. 

"I've never done this before..." Emil began.

"I know." Mickey hugged his pillow tighter. He wasn't nervous, exactly, but this was different from everything else they'd done so far, if only because of all the preparation they'd had to deal with. Hand jobs and blow jobs didn't need all this extra stuff.

"So...let me know if it's all right?" Emil's other hand was stroking Mickey's lower back. "I know the theory, and I think I've got the anatomy down, but..."

"Yeah."

And then Emil got started.

It was weird. Just weird. Not bad, not good, just...odd. Not uncomfortable either, or at least it wasn't until Emil had two fingers in, trying to move them or whatever it was that he was doing. Mickey had no idea.

"Talk to me," Emil said. He still had his other hand on Mickey's back, where it felt solid and warm, and grounding.

"I don't know what to say," Mickey admitted. "Keep going?"

"How are you doing?" Emil's voice was soft, gentle, matching the dim light in the room. "Is this okay?"

"It feels weird," Mickey said. He felt like he wanted to squirm, _move_. He tried not to. It was weird. 

"I think I'm supposed to have three fingers in there, so I'm going to try to add one more," Emil said. "It's kind of awkward—sorry, is that okay?" 

"Yeah." It _was_ awkward, and now it stretched a bit more. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, exactly, but it was also different enough to be new. At least it didn't _hurt_ , which the internet had said was entirely possible. "I think you can try now? It feels...okay. Not bad."

"Yeah?" Emil paused his movements. A moment later he'd withdrawn his fingers. Mickey twisted to look; Emil pulled off his boxers and discarded them, then gave himself a few efficient strokes before rolling on the condom. He got more lube as well. "Ready?"

"Give me a kiss first." 

Emil complied. Mickey settled back on his stomach, and then Emil moved up behind him. "I don't really know what I'm doing," he said. "Tell me if it's not really working for you." 

It took them a few awkward shuffles and re-positioning before Emil could slide in. He went slowly, and though it didn't hurt, Mickey was much more uncomfortable than he'd been with just Emil's fingers. 

"How are you doing?" Emil asked. 

"I don't know," Mickey admitted. "It feels...I'm not sure I want to say what it feels like. Try moving?"

Emil tried moving. The uncomfortable stretch didn't go away. 

"How's this?" Emil's voice was strained.

"Unsexy," Mickey replied, after a moment's pause. "I'm sorry, I don't think I like this at all. It feels like...like...I can't say it, I'm sorry, it's probably not what anyone wants to hear when they're trying to have sex."

Pause. Then: "Does it feel like you're pooping?" Emil asked.

"Yes!" Mickey buried his face in his pillow, groaning. "I'm sorry! I didn't want to say it out loud."

Emil laughed. "Okay. I'm going to pull out. Hang on." He pressed a kiss to Mickey's shoulder, and another to his face, then moved away and, finally, pulled out. "Is this okay now?" 

The burn-y uncomfortable stretch-y feeling didn't recede immediately. "Yeah. I think so." Mickey twisted to see what Emil was doing: he pulled the condom off and threw it off the side of the bed, then flopped down next to Mickey. 

"Curiosity sated?"

"Almost." Mickey huffed, then moved so he could face Emil. He felt itchy, now, and tried not to squirm too much. "What did it feel like for you?" 

"Good, mostly." Emil shrugged. "Tight? It wasn't that different from...well, a vagina. A bit tighter."

"But good?"

"Yeah. I think so. Maybe it'd be better if I'd really tried to have a go at it? I don't know. I didn't really, " he gestured, "move much."

"Oh, so…" Mickey trailed off, studying Emil's face. His cheeks were slightly pink. A glance down confirmed that he was still hard. "Do you want to try again?"

"Not if you don't like it," Emil argued. "We have a good thing going, we don't _need_ to...do this."

"Yeah I know, but now I want to know what it's like to see you come while you're inside me," Mickey said. "Doing that."

Emil flushed. "Jesus, Mickey!" He drew in a sharp breath. "You can't just _say_ things like that!"

"But it's true." Mickey just looked at him. "We can try a different position?"

"Like what? On your side? Or back? Or knees?"

"Back, I think. I want to see you."

"Okay." Cheeks still pink, Emil fetched another condom. "Should I prep you a bit again, or...I should, right?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." Mickey moved over, pulling up his knees a bit, then watched Emil ready himself.

"Ready?" Emil kneeled between Mickey's legs, one hand on Mickey's knee.

"Yes." 

Knowing what to expect, the stretch wasn't nearly as uncomfortable the second time, but it still wasn't what Mickey would describe as _pleasant_. Even when Emil put his other hand to use to stroke Mickey's cock, it was...okay. 

"I think you're ready," Emil said. He had three fingers in. "Let me see if I can find your prostate first? I've been told it feels good."

The internet had told Mickey the same thing. "Yeah, go on." He watched as Emil withdrew his fingers, flexed them, then put two back in. He moved his fingers about, dug them in a bit, and then— _there_ —he found it.

Mickey squeaked, instinctively covering his mouth. Emil froze, looking up at Mickey, who was probably more wild-eyed than he believed himself to be.

"That was it?" Emil asked. 

"Yeah," Mickey replied. "Do it again, what you just did."

Emil complied, his fingertips finding the spot again.

It was different from everything Mickey had experienced before; more intense—tendrils of heat and pleasure shooting into his body from that one little spot. He couldn't keep his eyes open, or his breathing even, all he could do was focus on how _amazing_ that felt.

"Mickey?" Emil sounded concerned. "Are you okay? Do you want to come like this?"

"I—no," Mickey opened his eyes. He wasn't sure he could handle any more of this. "Stop. Put your dick in me. Or kiss me."

"Okay." Emil pulled his fingers out. "Did you like it?" 

"Yeah," Mickey exhaled. He took a deep breath. "It was _intense_." It was a bit as if he could still feel it, even if Emil wasn't touching him anymore. "I'm feeling _really_ good right now."

Emil grinned, leaning over Mickey close enough to kiss him. " _Good._ I want you to feel good." He kissed Mickey then, a deep and hungry kiss, until they were both short of breath.

"Get in there," Mickey told him, fumbling for the lube. He accidentally squeezed out too much, but he didn't care, and wrapped his hand around Emil's condom-clad dick anyway, slicking him up.

"Yeah, okay." Emil gave Mickey another kiss, then pulled away so he could see what he was doing. 

This time, Emil slid in just fine. It still stretched and it was still uncomfortable, but it wasn't quite as bad as before. It still felt like...well, like Mickey should be sitting on a toilet and not lying on a bed, but he was more relaxed now.

"How's this?" Emil asked, voice strained. 

"Better." Mickey didn't quite know what to do with his legs, but he tried crossing them over Emil's back. "Can you move?"

"Yeah." Emil glanced down between them, then moved his hips, ever so slowly. His breathing got shallower.

"Good?" 

"Yeah," Emil breathed.

Like this, Mickey could see clearly in Emil's face how much he liked it. He couldn't really say having Emil's dick in his arse was doing much for him, but the look on Emil's face alone was worth it. 

"The angle?" Emil asked.

It took Mickey a second to understand what he meant. "Oh, it's fine. Doesn't hurt. Uhm. I don't know—maybe—"

Emil angled himself forwards, and Mickey rose up to meet him in a kiss. "This better?" Emil asked.

"Not really." Mickey kissed him again.

It took some trial and error until Emil managed to find an angle that let him also stimulate Mickey's prostate. It didn't work fantastically, but the occasional bursts of pleasure was nearly making up for all the other uncomfortable aspects about the whole thing.

"Touch yourself," Emil said. "Please?" He had both hands on Mickey's hips, holding him in place.

Mickey did. "How are you doing?" he asked. Emil was sweating, and shaking, and even in the dim light Mickey could see that his pupils were blown wide.

"Can I go faster?" Emil asked. "This pace is...I need more."

"Yeah. Yeah, come here." 

Emil picked up the pace, letting go of Mickey's hips so he could lean forwards, supporting himself on his elbows instead. Mickey took the opportunity to put his hands and mouth on him, and was rewarded with sharp little gasps.

The increased pace wasn't comfortable _at all_ , but before Mickey could ask Emil to slow down again, or stop altogether, Emil was coming. Mickey kissed him, even as Emil was unable to kiss him back.

This was always Mickey's favourite part.

"Jesus," Emil mumbled and kissed Mickey back shakily. He'd stilled.

"Feeling good?" Mickey rubbed Emil's arms.

"Yeah. Hell yeah." Emil drew in a shaky breath. "Give me a minute and I'll take care of you."

Mickey didn't reply, just continued kissing and touching him, until Emil pulled away. He tied a knot on the condom and dropped it off the side of the bed where it joined the first discarded condom, then turned his attention to Mickey. 

"How did you like it?" Emil trailed a finger down Mickey's chest, all the way down to his dick. 

"Not very much." Mickey gave Emil a wry smile. "I'm not sure I'd want to do it again, to be honest…"

"Did it hurt?" Emil wrapped his hand loosely around Mickey's dick, stroking gently.

Mickey squirmed a little, getting more comfortable. "No. I just didn't like it much." He gestured for Emil to come closer. He waited until Emil was down on one elbow, then kissed him. "There was one thing I really liked, though…"

"Yeah?" Emil perked up. "What part?"

"I liked what you did with your fingers," Mickey said, glancing down to Emil's hand on his dick.

"Do you want me to—"

" _Yes_. Please." Mickey uncovered the tube of lube again. The cap hadn't closed properly, so some had spilled onto the sheets. Didn't matter, they needed changing anyway. "Here—make me come."

Emil coated his fingers, smiling wide. "Have I told you how hot it is when you say things like that?"

Yes you have, Mickey thought, but instead of replying just pulled him into a kiss. he kept his hand on Emil's neck. " _Please_."

That prompted Emil into action. It didn't take him long to find Mickey's prostate again, and then Mickey was gasping into Emil's mouth, his fingers digging into Emil's skin.

"That good, sweetcheeks?" Emil murmured. 

Mickey's insides felt like liquid fire. He couldn't answer, because if he did he wasn't sure he could keep quiet, so he just held on to Emil and breathed into his mouth. He was going to come like this; the intensity of Emil's touch was too much, the building tension and pleasure rapidly reaching a height he was wholly unprepared for.

So was Emil, as it turned out. "Whoa," he said, belatedly withdrawing his fingers when Mickey made a low, keening noise of pain. "That—you—I didn't even touch you—hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Mickey managed. He was still breathing hard. 

When he finally opened his eyes and released his death grip on Emil, it was to find that his boyfriend was looking at him with the smuggest, most self-satisfied smile Mickey had ever seen on his face. He also had a single droplet of white glistening in his beard.

"You have something on your face," Mickey said. 

"Yeah, I have you on my face." Emil grinned. "Seriously though. Are you okay?"

Mickey glanced at himself. He'd never made a mess like this before. He probably had some on his own face as well. "Yeah. I'm...yeah. I'm good." He let out a long breath. "That was _good_."

"Why, thank you." Emil kissed him. "Is _that_ something you'd like to try again?"

"Oh god, _yes_." Mickey rubbed his face. His cheeks were hot, which was no surprise. "When I've recovered. Sometime in the distant future. Or tomorrow."

Emil dissolved into quiet laughter. "I'm pleased to hear it."

"Don't laugh at me." Mickey swatted at his face. 

"I'm not laughing at you." Emil grinned, leaning in for another kiss. "I'm just feeling very good about myself, and you, and everything, right now."

A smile tugged at Mickey's lips. "Yeah?"

"Mmh." More kissing. 

Mickey had to admit he was also feeling very good about himself, and Emil, and everything. He was also slowly getting defeated by the endorphins and whatever other happy-making chemicals currently flooding his system. "Let's clean up before I fall asleep in this mess."

"All right." Emil didn't move right away, choosing instead to kiss Mickey some more. "Sweetcheeks."

"I'm in too good a place right now to comment on that," Mickey told him. "Get up. I think I want another shower. I have lube and jizz _everywhere_ …"

Emil snickered, but got up and out of bed. He hadn't taken even one step when he jerked and shuddered. "Aw, _gross_."

"What is it?" Mickey hadn't moved yet.

"I stepped on the condom. _Ugh_." Emil picked both discarded condoms up and deposited them in Mickey's bin. "Gross."

Mickey snickered. 

"I _know_." Emil unlocked the door and checked the hallway. "The coast is clear."

They cleaned up quickly; Mickey dipped under the shower for a quick wash, Emil joining him for some lazy kisses and groping once he'd finished scrubbing his hands clean in the sink. They changed the sheets in record time, and opened the window to let the night breeze in to air out the room.

It wasn't terribly late, but everyone else in the house was asleep and they had to get up early for skate practice. It wouldn't be the first time they had gone to practice on little sleep, but Mickey was tired and from the looks of it, even Emil was starting to flag.

"Can we do the performance review later?" Emil asked, not even bothering to suppress a yawn. 

"...yeah," Mickey answered. "Sure."

"Good." Emil stretched and yawned again.

Mickey turned the lamp off. Emil shifted and the mattress creaked, and then Emil's arm snaked around Mickey's waist. 

~*~

Emil had been packing for about ten minutes and had yet to notice Mickey watching him from the doorway. Mickey had seen him pack before; it was usually haphazard and hurried and could be described less as packing and more like throwing things into a bag.

That wasn't what he was doing now: he was carefully picking up his items from the floor or other surfaces, folding them and placing them in his bag. By the looks of it, he'd first upended his bag and folded and reorganised everything.

Mickey was content to watch until Emil picked up a tshirt that clearly wasn't his, and sniffed it. "That's mine," Mickey said, finally making his presence known.

Emil startled. "Hi," he said. He was sporting a cute blush. "Can I take this?" He indicated the tshirt. 

"What for?" Mickey came in and sat next to Emil on the floor.

"It smells like you." Emil's blush deepened. 

"Oh." Mickey couldn't help the pleased smile; he was _charmed_. Not least because the request was so unexpected. 

It didn't matter that Emil had inadvertently picked Mickey's favourite tshirt. He could have it. 

"Yeah, you can take it." Mickey leaned in to give Emil a kiss on the cheek. "Papà says I can borrow the car, so I'll drive you to the airport."

"Okay." Emil folded Mickey's shirt and put it in his bag. "I'm...not feeling great about leaving."

"Me either."

Emil pulled at the zipper on the bag. "We didn't manage to talk about everything."

"No. But...forgive me for saying this, but we have the entire rest of our lives to talk."

"Yeah." Emil huffed. "I guess."

"You're not still upset? About me being asexual?" 

"No." Emil shook his head. "I was never...upset, exactly. Worried. I was afraid things between us would change, but they didn't really. Not in the way I thought they would."

"But something changed?" 

"Yeah." Emil's mouth quirked. "I understand you better. But it goes the other way too, yeah?"

"Yeah," Mickey confirmed, smiling back. He tugged on Emil's beard, and Emil followed. He kissed him. "I still think sex multiple times a day is a bit excessive, though."

Emil laughed. "Yeah, I know. Can you blame me, though? I only want to make up for lost time."

Mickey shook his head, but he was laughing too. "Yeah, okay." He gave Emil another kiss. "Seriously though, are you never not in the mood?"

"Oh, totally. All the time."

"Like when?" Mickey was perplexed. "Because at this point I've pretty much accepted that you're _always_ willing."

"And you're _never_ willing?" Emil asked, pointedly.

"No, I'm not saying that, I'm just…" Mickey shifted some of Emil's hair away from his face, biting his lip. He'd be willing right now if Emil was; it'd probably cheer him up some.

"I know what you meant," Emil said, giving him a little smile. "But for the record: I'm not actually thinking about sex now. For example, right now in this moment."

"You're...not?" 

Emil shook his head. "It's the last thing I want."

"What do you want?" Mickey asked. "If not that?"

"Can we just sit here for a bit? And pretend I don't have to get on a plane today?" 

"Yeah." Mickey smiled. "We can do that." He clasped Emil's hand. "We have time."

Emil didn't say anything, just squeezed Mickey's hand.

"I don’t have to go back to university until October," Mickey said. "Sara and I are doing an ice show in September, but I was thinking I could probably find the time and money to come up and see you for a weekend at some point…"

"Yeah?" Emil looked up. "You'd do that?"

"I'd love to. If it's not too much trouble—you'll be busy too, and university is tough in the beginning, and—"

"Shut up." Emil kissed him. "I’d love for you to come over for a weekend. I don't care if it's inconvenient."

Mickey kissed him back. "Okay. I'll see what I can do." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [nsfw] art of the fingering scene on tumblr, [HERE](https://victorextranikiforov.tumblr.com/post/163900024816/this-was-going-to-be-something-of-an-illustration).


End file.
